


Icarus

by abnels



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Military, NO PERMANENT MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH OKAY, Romance, Supernatural Abilities, Violence, content warnings added before each chapter, guns swords and other ridiculous stuff, i mean its a military au of course theres violence, not all of them are the military! just fyi., sidepairings: matsuhana / kyouhaba / ukatake / asanoya / more probably!, so much angst god i have a problem, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5498909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abnels/pseuds/abnels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark magic - called arcane - plagues the world. Based on sacrifice, it threatens to swallow humanity whole. Karasuno Outpost, destination for the oddballs and rejects of the military, is just one of many bases that stand between the balance of light and dark. But something is brewing in the distance, something that will make or break them all.</p><p>Military/magic AU. Characters aged up to 18+. Be prepared to cry with me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It all begins and ends in your mind. What you give power to has power over you." -Leon Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DIDNT BETA THIS forgive me.
> 
> OKAY. first off, warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence (nothing too bad), death (no one important), kidnapping (ish? you'll find out more as the story goes on).
> 
> 1st years: ~19 years old  
> 2nd years: ~20 years old  
> 3rd years: ~21 years old
> 
> this au is loosely based on Taimadou Gakuen 35 Shiken Shoutai, but not really. you don't need to know anything about that anime to understand this fic! special thanks to @witchyjade on tumblr, for helping me build this story and listening to me talk endlessly about how i'm going to break their heart. there will probably be more pairings than are mentioned in the tags but i haven't quite gotten there yet in my brain. more notes at the end.
> 
> contact me: @abnels on tumblr

“Get down!” comes the panicked voice of Yamaguchi Tadashi over the comms. Hinata Shouyou drops, his face pressed flat against the dirt as the crackle of dark magic (otherwise known as arcane) shoots through the space that his chest had just been.

“Thanks!” he breathes into the comm that is hooked onto his left ear. A quick roll to his left brings him behind the cover of a metal dumpster. “Got any eyes on the guy?”

The whiz of a bullet and the cry of a man somewhere down the alley is his answer, as Tsukishima shoots from the safety of a tall building, blocks away. Non-lethal rounds or not, Hinata winces in sympathy as he darts forward and zipties the hands of the prone man before him.

“Thanks, Tsukishima!” he says, a smile lighting up his face. A second bullet streaks through the air close enough to ruffle the hairs covering the tips of his ears and he jumps with a yelp. “HEY! What was that for?!”

“Oh, sorry.” The bored voice of Tsukishima Kei filters through the earpiece. “You’re so small, I didn’t see you there.” Yamaguchi snorts with laughter and Hinata makes a face that he’s sure the blonde boy can see through his scope.

“Hey, dumbasses, focus!” Shots come from somewhere to Hinata’s right, and he heads towards the sounds, knowing that they’ll lead him to the fourth member of his squad, Kageyama Tobio.

“Are we ruining your aim, King?” Tsukishima asks with false concern. He’s answered by a sort of growl from Kageyama and more laughter from Yamaguchi.

Hinata arrives behind his partner, who is firing electrified, nonlethal bullets towards his opponents with frightening precision.

“On your left,” says Yamaguchi, and sure enough, a blue glyph is forming in the air above the ground, twenty feet in front of them. “Careful, that’s definitely an antiquated spell.”

The clip from the gun the Kageyama is holding in his left hand hits the pavement with a clack. He fluidly reaches towards the line of clips at his side, each marked with a different sigel imbossed into the black metal. He’s reloaded and aiming within seconds. Hinata knows this drill. He pulls something out of the holster at his side; a bladeless hilt, orange, and with a sweeping motion drawn by his left hand, a blade of orange energy forms. He puts both hands on the handle, and after a nod from the tall boy beside him, he surges forward. The sound of gunfire fills his ears, as he sprints; Kageyama is firing the bullets in his lefthand gun at the glyph, which has brightened considerably in the time since it appeared. The bullets strike it, sparking red against light blue. A man jumps out towards Hinata, who doesn’t have time to block – but he doesn’t need to; a bullet strikes the man in the side of the head, discharging a surge of electricity into him. He falls to the ground, incapacitated.

“Ah,” says Tsukishima, though Hinata barely hears him over his own pulse. He’s feet from the glyph, which is still sparking with Kageyama’s barrage of bullets. Shouting with exertion, he draws the blade down diagonally from the right, halving the glyph in front of him. Inertia carries him forward, and it smashes to pieces as if made from glass, littering the ground that he rolls to a stop on. He’s dimly aware of pain in his back, and assumes, as he rises to his feet, that a few of the shards must have cut through his uniform.

There’s motion in the corner of his vision, and he turns to find three purple bolts rocketing through the space between him and their caster. Two spark red and shatter midair thanks to Kageyama’s shooting, and Hinata dispatches the third with a swing of his sword. The man takes a step forward, his hands glowing violet, but that’s his last mistake. The pop of gunfire sounds, and sparks ark from two points of impact in his torso. Hinata pants as Kageyama jogs forward and cuffs the man now on the ground.

“That’s the last of them,” Kageyama says, pressing a finger two his earpiece. Hinata tucks the bladeless hilt of his sword into its holster once again and snaps it in place. The black-haired boy pats down the man’s sides and reaches into his pocket, extracting a small, leather bound book. Its pages are stained brown. “I’ve got the tome.”

“I’ll call for extraction. Coming to you now.”

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima arrive minutes later, as the low hum of a car engine approaches. Two black vans pull around the corner down the street and stop in front of them. The four of them climb into the back of the first van, buckling themselves in place in the two rows of seats facing each other against the sides. Hinata takes care to lean forward, so that he doesn’t get any blood on the seats. He’ll have to wait until they get back to the outpost to get patched up.

“Good work today, Delta,” says a pleasant-looking blonde, eyeing them in the rearview mirror from the driver’s seat. The car pulls away as the soldiers in the second van recover the criminals that the squad apprehended.

Tsukishima leans his sniper rifle against the wall of the van and lets out a tired sigh.

“Oy, idiot, stop wasting bullets on Hinata when there are other people around to shoot at,” Kageyama hisses across the aisle. Hinata lets out an indignant squawk from the seat next to him, and Tsukishima waves his hand dismissively while Yamaguchi smirks.

“What’s with that phrasing? How about he stops shooting at me in general?! We’re on the same team!”

“Whatever,” snaps Kageyama. Tsukishima looks on as the pair begin arguing, avoiding the scrutiny he deserves as per usual.

“You’re just mad because he shot the last guy first.”

“He did not, I did! He was my mark.”

“It sure didn’t look that way to me,” says Tsukishima in the same tone he’d use to comment on the weather.

“I don’t know, Kageyama-san, you _have_ been missing more often than usual,” Yamaguchi interrupts with a smirk, unable to resist teasing him.

“I have not!” He’s red in the face with anger. “And quit laughing, dumbass!” he snaps at Hinata, knocking him on the head with one hand.

The rest of the car ride is passed in silence, Kageyama and Hinata are pointedly glaring in opposite directions while the other two do their best to resist infuriating either of them further.

After reaching the base, they head to one of the formal meeting rooms on the third floor, where their commanding officer is waiting for them. With bleached blonde hair tucked back behind a headband, he’s not the ideal image of a general, but Ukai Keishin has never been one for formalities among his soldiers (especially considering the reputation of the outpost that he commands). After a quick salute, the four boys take seats across from Ukai at the long black table. Hinata taps his fingers on the tabletop, feeling impatient as the adrenaline of the fight has worn of; the pain in his back flares with big movements. The door opens and a brunette enters, folder in one hand and a silver suitcase in the other. Takeda Ittetsu bows to the group and takes a seat next to Ukai.

“Alright, Delta Squad, report.”

Kageyama places the artifact that he took from the man’s pocket earlier on the table and slides it towards the general. “We apprehended four of the five targets who took part in the exchange. The fifth managed to escape using an instant spell.” Hinata catches movement out of the corner of his eye, noticing Tsukishima’s fist clenched tight on his lap. “Ennoshita-san and his squad moved in for extraction.”

Takeda takes notes on a piece of paper, for which Hinata is grateful – it means that none of them will have to fill out an official report, since he is already doing so. It’s one less thing for the squad to argue about after the debriefing.

Ukai smiles. “Good job, Delta. I know things got off to a rocky start, but I’m starting to feel like I can rely on you. There’s still room for improvement, however, so don’t get cocky.” Everyone except Tsukishima nods enthusiastically at this. “Takeda-san, do you have anything to add?”

“Ah, well, Hinata, you should report to the med bay directly after you’re dismissed here, no putting it off this time! Does any of your gear require maintenance at this time?” He’s answered with four simultaneous shakes of the head. “Then, that’s all I have to say.” Takeda unclips the latches on the silver suitcase to reveal a black padded interior. He carefully lifts the stained book from the table and sets it within, then closes the box and locks it.

“Alright then. You’re all dismissed.”

They rise and leave the room through the same door they used to enter. The other three head left, presumably towards their squad’s locker room, while Hinata takes a right, heading towards the med bay. He turns the corner to the hall that will lead him there, only to find a boy with silver hair leaning his head out of the doorway of his destination. The boy is looking down the hallway in the opposite direction, as if he’s searching for a lost puppy. Hinata grins.

“Sugawara-san!” he yells, raising his arm to wave, only to lower it again with a wince. The pain in his back is a steady ache. The silver-haired boy snaps his head in Hinata’s direction, and his face lights up with a grin.

“Hinata! I’ve been waiting for you!” Hinata follows him into the large, white room, glancing around at the sterile surfaces and patient beds, everything linear and organized. Sugawara points at the first bed to the right. “I heard you got injured on your squad’s mission, are you alright?” His voice is laced with genuine concern.

“Oh, ah, yeah, I just landed on some glyph shards. I… didn’t have anyone look at it yet, so there might be some pieces left.” He very slowly shrugs off his unbuttoned uniform top, and Sugawara frowns as he takes in the bloodied white t-shirt now visible.

“Again?” Hinata looks back at him with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah.” He drops his previous expression as he tries to explain himself. “It was arcane though so I had to act fast!”

Sugawara sighs. “Well, lay down on the bed. And don’t bother taking off that t-shirt, I’m just going to cut it away so you don’t accidentally damage anything.” He pulls on a pair of gloves while Hinata lowers himself onto his stomach on the patient bed. Grabbing a couple of tools he thinks he’ll need – superglue, gauze, medical tape, disinfectant, tweezers, fabric scissors – he slides a chair over and sits down next to the bed, his tray of tools resting on the bedside table.

“Thank you, Sugawara-senpai.”

“This will probably hurt,” he says as he begins to cut a line down the back of Hinata’s shirt. The boy on the table bit his lip because yes, it certainly did. “You remember that I told you to just call me Suga, right?” he teases lightly as he parts the fabric and surveys the damage. The cuts aren’t deep, though they bled quite a bit. He takes out a purple marker from his pocket.

“Ah, y-yes, Suga-senpai!” Hinata stammers.

“I guess I can’t force it.” He chuckles as he begins drawing a symbol on the back of the other boy’s hand. “But nobody really bothers with formalities around here. We aren’t prestigious enough for that.”

“I know,” Hinata says. “But I don’t think it’d be right to just call you by your last name.” He doesn’t know the other boy well enough for that, he thinks.

“Okay!” Suga claps his hands together. “I’m going to activate this pain-relieving spell I drew on your hand, alright? It should ease the discomfort while I work on your back, and it will hopefully last long enough that the healing spell will do the rest before it wears off. But if you experience more discomfort, come find me and I’ll do another one.”

“Thanks!”

Suga smiles and taps the purple symbol with the other side of the marker. It glows bright for a moment, and then the light disappates. Hinata visibly relaxes.

“Better?”

Hinata nods.

Suga starts by taking a close look at Hinata’s back. Some of the cuts are deeper than others, where the glyph shards tore through the skin like shattered glass. He grabs a large pair of tweezers with two rubber pads attached to the open end, and begins carefully removing a few pieces still embedded in the flesh. Each one drops into a petri dish with a light _tink_. He’ll turn them in to the lab later for examination.

“You know, I think you should have a conversation with Takeda-san about getting you some sort of armor to prevent this from happening again. I know you can’t always avoid it, but it would be better if you had a back up for the times that you can’t stop in time.” Hinata nods, quietly enduring the uncomfortable sensations involved with the removal process. There is no pain, but he can still feel it as Suga works.

Hinata tenses when his back suddenly gets cold. The other boy tsks at him, and he relaxes as the smell of disinfecting alcohol fills his nose. Suga cleans away the dried blood and makes sure to double-check for any missed pieces.

“Ah, you’re bleeding again,” Suga comments drily, reaching over to pick up a few pieces of guaze. He applies pressure to cuts until they stop bleeding, one by one. Then, he uncaps the superglue and works on applying a thin coat to each. For wounds this minor, there is no point for him to actually stitch up the skin, since it will be a hindrance once the healing spell is applied. Superglue will keep everything in place well enough.

He pulls a lime green marker out of his pocket, and starts drawing circles on the bare side of Hinata’s forearm. He adds a few lines here and there, and then presses the back of the marker to the ink, which glows just as the other spell did, and then fades again. The redness of Hinata’s back begins to fade, and Suga pulls off his gloves, throwing them and the bloody guaze into a bright orange waste bin.

“You’re good to go, Hinata. I’ll be around if you need another pain-relieving spell, but you should be fine.” The orange-haired boy sits up, stretching his arms. “And don’t forget to turn that uniform in for… well, the point is, you’ll need a new one.”

“Thanks again, senpai!” The room seems to brighten as he grins and hops off the bed, bloody shirts in one hand.

“You’re welcome.”

 

= = =

 

Kageyama Tobio paces back and forth in the locker room. Several stalls line the wall to his right, their grey paint offset by the white of the walls and the tiled floor. On his left are a couple rows of lockers lined with benches, and past that, the sinks and mirrors. There are a few toilet stalls tucked in another corner as well. He’s wearing a clean pair of his navy uniform pants and a white t-shirt, a casual outfit when compared with what he wears to combat. He stops pacing and sinks down to sit on a bench, setting his face in his hands.

His mind is full of his squad’s most recent mission, replaying every moment, obsessing over every detail. The change of magazines hadn’t been as fluid as he’d wanted, he would need to drill to make sure he wasn’t getting rusty. He couldn’t affort to slack when his teammates’ lives, as well as the lives of the civilians miles and miles to the northeast, depended on flawless execution on his part. Kageyama felt that his aim was good, although the rate of fire felt wrong, a sliver of a second _off_. Was it operator error? Was something broken in the finer mechanics of his weapon? Later, he thought, he would disasemble them both and clean them, and go for a round of drills in the shooting range until he could find no more flaws with his performance. Only then would Kageyama let himself relax.

His mind drifted to his teammates. Yamaguchi had done his job, as usual. Nothing stellar, by any standards, but Kageyama had stopped expecting anything too far above average from the freckle-faced boy; they were all at Karasuno for one reason or another, and he figured maybe Yamaguchi hadn’t made the cut elsewhere. He wasn’t bad, but he didn’t stand out, and that was as good as failure in the eyes of some military higher ups. Whatever the true reason was, the other boy hadn’t said anything, and Kageyama was content to leave it be, as long as Yamaguchi did his job to an acceptable standard. Not that he didn’t wish to improve his teammate.

Tsukishima crossed his mind next. Infuriating was the first word he thought of. While he had no complaints about Tsukishima’s combat skill, he _did_ have complaints about his attitude. While he’d never actually hit him, shooting at Hinata was… well, there was little doubt in Kageyama’s mind as to whether or not it was Tsukishima’s attitude that had landed him at Karasuno. It irked him that the other boy took their missions so lightly. This was the military, god damn it. Not a circus. Yelling had never gotten him anywhere with Tsukishima, though. He was pretty sure the blonde outright hated him.

And Hinata, he started, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the boy himself entered the door to the locker room.

It was like Hinata Shouyou carried the sun along with him whereever he went. Orange hair, radiant smile, and excitable personality… he was naïve, and Kageyama couldn’t stand it. Reckless, unrefined, he was like a shooting star that left an afterburn you could see even after he’d seared a path across your vision.

“Kageyama,” he says in surprise, his tone devoid of any sort of animosity. Kageyama looks at him, and his eyes widen when he takes in Hinata’s lack of a shirt. Then they narrow, as if attempting to correct this, even though his vision is still stuck on the planes of Hinata’s chest.

“Why are you wandering around the base half-naked?” he snaps, dragging his gaze up to Hinata’s eyes. Gaze is the wrong word; his face is more of a scowl.

“I was at the med bay, remember? Suga-senpai patched me up.” Hinata frowns, and twists around to show his teammate the irritated red lines drawn all over his back. Something in Kageyama’s chest twinges.

“He wouldn’t have to if you’d be more careful with your strikes. You’re too reckless, what if that glyph had residual effects? You’d be out for a week, dumbass.”

“Oh, chewing me out already? No, _Hinata! I’m glad you’re alright, it must have hurt throwing yourself through some arcane to keep us from being blasted into oblivion, thanks for putting the rest of us before your health!_ ” He takes a step towards the taller boy, seeming to flare around the edges with anger.

Kageyama steps forwards as well, leaning over Hinata with a snarl. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know what happened to people who got in over their heads? People like… “You always go overboard, idiot. I had it under control, if you weren’t so desperate to show off you would have seen that!”

He knows immediately that he’s gone too far. Hinata’s fists clench around the collar of his shirt and _push_ , stronger than Kageyama ever could have guessed they could. He’s forced backwards, towards the lockers, but the backs of his calves hit something – the bench – and he tries desperately for half a second to maintain his balance, but Hinata doesn’t relent. And then he’s falling, a victim of both his partner and gravity, and black spots dance in his vision when the back of his head connects with the metal behind him, his elbows bracing him seconds later with a bang.

Now Hinata is the one who has gone too far, as the breath hisses out of Kageyama, pain written across his face. But he too has lost his balance, and he’s practically supporting his own weight against the black-haired boy’s chest.

Kageyama draws his hands upward and presses them flat against Hinata’s burning skin. He pushes, shoves the other backwards and off of him, away, always away. Hinata spills ass-first onto the tiled floor with an _oof_ and a shocked expression; eyes wide and shining, his mouth agape in a tiny ‘o’.

Kageyama drags himself to his feet, stalking towards the door with tension clinging to his frame.

A small voice reaches him when he gets there. “Stop treating me like I’m your inferior,” Hinata growls. Kageyama tosses a glance at him over his shoulder, lingering over the other, sweeping across his form on the floor.

“I’ll respect you when I think you’re essential to defeating the enemy. Until then, just stay out of my way.” Kageyama steps forward and almost misses it when Hinata replies.

“I won’t lose to you.”

He doesn’t stop walking until the door swings shut behind him with a thump. Then he leans against the wall, glaring down with royal blue eyes at his long fingers. He had been in that room, waiting for Hinata. To check up on him. It occurs to him that he had worried about him, Kageyama had _actually worried_ about someone. Who is this person, this firey person who crashed into his world hard enough to make him worry? Just who is this orange-haired freak of nature, that he could make Kageyama’s palms tingle just by pressing them against his bare skin?

The lump on the back of his head is already beginning to pound, and Kageyama realizes with a jolt, that he _does not know_.

__

__= = =_ _

__

“Suuugaaaa,” someone whispers, and it’s what brings Sugawara Koushi back to the waking world. His eyes slide open, just enough to confirm the identity of the person hovering over him. “You awake?”

He lets his eyes open further, wincing at the bright light that streams in through the window above his position on the couch. A cool breeze drifts through the open space, lazily urging the curtains towards Sawamura Daichi, the boy who woke him up in the first place. Sun crowns his brown hair and tan skin in glory, making him light up even brighter than usual.

“Hai,” Suga replies in a wrinkled voice, smiling up at Daichi, who is returning his smile. “I’m awake.”

“Dinner’s ready,” says Daichi, drawing himself back up into standing position and setting his hands on his hips. He’s wearing a plain white tshirt with the grey shorts he sometimes works out in. Suga assumes that he’s planning on exercizing after dinner then. He sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, silver hair tickling the tips of his ears.

“What did you make?” he asks, sniffing the air with curiosity. It smells like…

“Curry,” they say together, and Daichi laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, while Suga grins up at him.

“Is that all you know how to make?” Suga teases, smacking the other on the arm gently with the back of his hand.

“W-well, no, but-“

He’s cut off as Tanaka Ryuunosuke bursts through the door to their shared living quarters just then, Nishinoya Yuu following close behind him and dragging Azumane Asahi along by the wrist. It’s a bit of an outrageous sight, since Noya is significantly shorter than the giant he has in tow, something that Tanaka has probably pointed out. But Asahi is wearing a smile, no matter how exhasperated it may be, and Suga’s heart warms at the sight of the three of them.

“Suga-san! Daichi-san!” Tanaka roars by way of greeting. He’s loud as usual, and wearing a huge grin.

“Is it ready yet?” Noya is just as loud as Tanaka and twice as excited.

“H… hello,” says Asahi, looking supremely embarrassed.

Suga stands from his position on the couch. “It is! Now hurry up and go wash your hands so that we can eat.” He watches Tanaka and Noya race each other to the bathroom, Asahi calling after them to be quieter. He reaches into the cabinets above the stove, pulling out five plates, while Daichi heads to the drawer with the silverware. They meet at the table, as is routine for them; with Suga setting a plate at each of their spaces, the other following him and placing a spoon to the right of each setting. They slowly circle around the table, and Suga finds himself grinning.

“Kids these days,” he says with a sigh.

Daichi grins back at him. “They grow up so fast.”

The two share a laugh and move the food to the table while everyone else takes their seats, Tanaka and Noya bickering over who got to the sink first.

“Alright, alright, quiet down already,” Suga says, taking his seat to the right of Daichi (who sits at the head of the table) and to the left of Asahi (who is just grateful that he isn’t seated in between Noya and Tanaka).

“Thank you for the food!” they chorus, and dig in. The food is good; Daichi has always been great at making curry, and tonight is no exception. Vegetables and meat compliment a bed of white rice – the two younger boys are scarfing it down like it will disappear if they don’t eat it fast enough.

“Slow down, you two, you’re going to make me sick just watching you,” Suga scolds them. Tanaka looks up at him with his cheeks pouched outwards like a squirrel, embarrassment coloring his cheeks; and Noya, who had paused to take a drink, laughs so hard he gets water up his nose when he sees this.

“General Ukai, sir,” Daichi says in a falsely formal tone, “we are sorry to report that Alpha Squad is out of commission due to two of our idiots eating so fast they made themselves ill!” Even Asahi cracks a genuine smile at that.

“Ah well,” Suga says after he finally stops chuckling, “we have a mission tomorrow anyways, so eat up. We want to be at our best!”

“Hai!”

 

= = =

 

“Iwa-chan~!”

Iwaizumi Hajime pretends he does not hear it.

“Iwa-chaaaaann~!”

Maybe if he pretends he can’t hear it, it will go away…

“Iwa-chan, I know you can hear me, now get up. You aren’t fooling anyone.”

Iwaizumi resigns himself to this awful, awful fate, and reaches out blindly towards the source of the noise. His hand finds a tshirt, and slowly pats itself upwards towards a face. He pats his torturer on the cheek, prompting an “oh!,” and then forcefully shoves the face away from him. He’s rewarded with the sound of Oikawa Tooru hitting the floor.

“Iwa-chan, mean!”

Iwaizumi flops his head towards Oikawa, glaring at him. “Go away, I’m sleeping.” It’s a futile wish, but maybe someday, _someday_ the brunette sprawled out on the ground to his right will stop waking him up at ungodly hours of the morning. At least today the sun up before he is.

“Lies! You aren’t sleeping anymore. Now get up!”

Iwaizumi fixes Oikawa with a glare that has his chocolate brown eyes widening and his body scrambling backwards a foot or two. “What do you want, Oikawa. It’s early.”

“It’s already like, seven! Probably! Besides, I have something for you!”

Iwaizumi props his head up on a hand, laying on his stomach. “If its another dead bird, I’m going to turn you into an outdoor cat.”

“Yikes, you really aren’t a morning person, are you Iwa-chan?”

“Are you an idiot?”

“Hey! Don’t say that to someone who has a gift for you!” Oikawa pouts at him, but there’s still mischief in his eyes. It’s a twinkle that looks at home in his gaze, and Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa isn’t Oikawa without it. “I worked really hard on it!”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up.” He groans as he sits up, stretching his arms over his head. “What is it?”

Oikawa reaches a hand into his pocket and pulls out a thin _something_ wrapped in newspaper. He tosses it over to Iwaizumi, who fumbles it before catching it. He silences the other boy with a look before he can carry on about how ‘careless Iwa-chan is with precious gifts,’ ad nauseam.

Oikawa looks up from his spot on the floor with an expression full to the brim with excited anticipation. Iwaizumi frowns down at him. “What’s with that stupid expression? I thought I was the one who was getting a present.”

“Hurry up and open it then!”

He does, gently unfolding the paper and unraveling it to find –

“Is this jewelry, Oikawa.”

“Iwa-chan, NO! Well, sort of.” He flinches at the glare Iwaizumi fires in his direction, and holds up his wrist. “Look, look, I have one too! We match.”

Iwaizumi looks at the thin black bracelet wrapped around Oikawa’s left wrist, but he can’t make it out too well from where he sits, so he looks down at his own. It’s made from what seems to be black metal, but it’s thin and woven and unlike any other metal he’s seen or felt before. There’s a fluidity to it, and when he looks closer, he can see what look like tiny leaves embedded into the material. It’s all the information he needs to deduce that Oikawa definitely didn’t pick this up at the jewelery store (not that there are any of those nearby). It’s distinctly unnatural – distinctly _magic_. He feels a plummeting sensation somewhere in his gut.

“Oikawa… where have you been the past couple of days?” Iwaizumi says in a grave tone. It’s not unusual for Oikawa to disappear every now and then, but…

Oikawa pointedly avoids his gaze, lighting up with a false smile that the other boy could have spotted from a mile away. “Aww, Iwa-chan loves it! I knew you’d be excited about it, here, I’ll put it on for you!” He stands up and moves towards Iwaizumi, who is still sitting on the bed, as still as stone.

The brown-haired boy flops down next to him on the worn grey covers and pulls the bracelet off of Iwaizumi’s lap, wrenching his right arm from its frozen position.

“Oikawa.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, he just hums as he loops the bracelet around the other’s tanned wrist and matches up the ends, which don’t have clasps of any sort. There’s a faint glow and the problem at hand is solved; the ends meet and seal so that no one would ever be able to tell where the break had been in the first place.

“They’re mint leaves,” he says, and Iwaizumi hates every word that comes out of his mouth. This isn’t _his_ Oikawa; this is the Oikawa who talks too fast and high with eyes too wide and an easy laugh that pinches far too much at the ends of each sound. His shoulders are too stiff and his hands never still. This is Oikawa under pressure, Oikawa trying to diffuse the tension, Oikawa trying to _hide_ something from him. “You know, don’t go reading into it too much Iwa-chan, you might hurt your brain, and you probably couldn’t handle the loss, there are so few brain cells up there! I hope you weren’t planning on taking it off any time soon because, well, you can’t! And don’t start whining about-“

Iwaizumi cuts him off with a violent shove, pressing Oikawa back against the wall and bearing down on him with the full weight of his anger. “What did you do this time, you fucking idiot?”

Oikawa’s strained smile falls into a blank look instantly, his eyes losing their brightness. This isn’t quite his Oikawa either, but right now Iwaizumi is too pissed to care.

“Oikawa, don’t fucking lie to me right now. What did you do for this.”

“It doesn’t matter, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replies in a voice that is far too quiet.

Iwaizumi shakes him, hard. “Don’t give me that shit, Oikawa. God damn it! God damn it, I can’t let you out of my sight for ten minutes, can I, before you go off and-“

“And what? What did I do? Go ahead, tell me! Because you know everything, Iwa-chan!”

“You know what I mean!” Iwaizumi shouts, before dropping his voice to something barely above a whisper, flat and stinging. “You used Arcane, didn’t you.”

Oikawa’s bottom lip pushes forward in a pout. “It was worth it.”

Iwaizumi groans, because he knew, he always knew that it would come back to this, because this is _his_ Oikawa, _his_ Oikawa who strays off the path more often than either of them are comfortable with. “What was worth what? Go on, spit it out.”

“It was just. It was just something of my sister’s.”

“How could you give that up?” Iwaizumi’s face is pale. What could have been worth that? And now he’s getting angry again. “Idiot! Trashkawa, you can’t replace that!”

“She’s not here anymore, Iwa-chan! You are! The choice was easy!”

Iwaizumi falls silent. Oikawa bites his lip, his cheeks reddening.

“They’re. I can use the bracelet to find you. If I have to. It’s worth it,” he finally says.

Iwaizumi isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to convince, but there’s something in the other’s warm brown eyes, something unreadable and painful that makes him want to curl up around him and never let go, never let the world tarnish the boy before him. Because he knows, he has always known, that this desperation and pain are a part of his Oikawa, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

“Trashykawa. When are you going to get it through that big head of yours that I don’t need you to protect me?” Oikawa turns his head to the side, still frowning, but he glances at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eyes.

“Iwa-chan is wimpy, I can’t help it.” Oikawa’s tone is lighter, and Iwaizumi feels some of the tightness in his chest unravel. He leans in and presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth, one, two… by the time he moves in for a third Oikawa’s lips are smiling against his, arms looped around his neck and fingers in his hair.

Iwaizumi pulls back and presses their foreheads together. “I feel like a parent who’s failed to discipline their child.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan wants to punish me? Very kinky.” Oikawa laughs, their breaths intermingling between them. Iwaizumi ruffles the other boy’s carefully arranged hair, which illicits a squeal of protest, and two hands pushing him away. “Rude!”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Iwaizumi says, standing up. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

 

= = =

 

Darkness. It’s the only thing Akaashi Keiji has seen for the past four days, aside from the light of his watch when he dares to use it. Bodies seem to press into him from all directions, but there’s only one that he cares about as he leans back against a cool metal surface, doing his best to ignore the burning hunger in his gut.

And the smell, _god_ , the smell. Sweaty bodies packed together in a tight, poorly ventilated space; with no food or water and nowhere to relieve themselves but the corner they designated the first day trapped in here. Akaashi thinks he will never be able to rid himself of the stench, thinks it has seeped into his pores and clogged his very cells.

He leans his head over to rest on the head of the boy sleeping against his shoulder. If there’s one thing that Akaashi regrets, it’s that he couldn’t protect Bokuto Koutarou from this hell. Sometimes he feels his composure cracking, the panic he’s locked away inside himself seeping through the fissures. And then he remembers that he needs to be strong, or as strong as one can be after four days of being locked in a shipping container with at least twenty other people. He has to be strong, because if he isn’t, who will protect Bokuto?

Soft hair presses against his cheek and he silently wishes that that didn’t have to happen like this, under these circumstances. He wishes they were somewhere far away, maybe at his home in his room, playing video games or studying or – anything but this. Anything but kidnapped by people he has never seen before.

Bokuto grumbles in his sleep, adjusting himself so that he’s leaned over with his head in Akaashi’s lap. And Akaashi can’t help but rearange his own position a bit to accommodate them both, and run his hands through Bokuto’s hair, just trying to get himself to sleep. The silence presses in on him from all sides. It’s gotten quiet the last day or so, too quiet. Once the first wave of panic subsided, people around him began to talk. Telling stories, trying to figure out what was going on, how to escape, anything to pass the time. Bokuto, of course, yammered on endlessly to anyone and everyone; and naturally they all seemed to feel boistered by his presence. Everyone felt hopeful when Bokuto told a story, because Bokuto was a ball of unrivaled charisma. Akaashi had expected him to hit one of his down moods by now, but it hadn’t happened. Though his best friend’s voice had tired and thinned over the past few days, the positivity had yet to waver. It was different for everyone else, though. Akaashi could feel the hopelessness stir the stagnant air as the quiet began to grow. Stories grew shorter and fewer. Silences were punctuated by coughs or sobs over the hum of the engine of the vehicle that was carrying their container.

It had been four days and there was no sign of change, except for the growing weakness that had settled into all of their bones. Sometimes they stopped. Sometimes the truck moved for a long time, other times they sat still.

Akaashi was afraid. He couldn’t remember how he and Bokuto had gotten here, but he knew it couldn’t have been anything good. No one else in the container seemed to remember either, which suggested that something was very wrong about this situation. Who had taken them? Where were they going? Did anyone even realize that they were gone?

Were they going to die?

Akaashi looks down at the flashing of the light on his watch and prays that someone will rescue them, as four days ticks over into five.

 

= = =

 

Kozume Kenma leans forward, tweaking the sight of his sniper rifle, its dull and dark red coloring burning with contrast against the grey of the rooftop on which he lays. His curtain of blonde hair would help keep the sun out, if there were any today, but the weather has been dreary the whole time they’ve been on this assignment. Kuroo Tetsurou sits next to him, lounging against the air conditioning unit, long out of use.

“See anything?” Kuroo asks, his tone disinterested as he scrolls through one of the data pads that Kenma brought along. They’ve been scouting the area for a few days now, a long-term mission for once; waiting for a meeting that they’d been tipped off to, according to the intel received from the interrogation department of the military. It had been quiet so far, and undeniably _boring_.

 

He responds with silence, leaning back away from his gun and rolling over towards Kuroo to lay on his back, staring up at the heavy grey clouds that drift overhead. He hopes it doesn’t rain. That would only make the mission ten times as tedious.

Twenty feet away, in a corner of the rooftop, Haiba Lev and Morisuki Yaku are arguing over something, again. Their voices carry towards the other two members of their squad, and it becomes apparent that Lev made fun of Yaku’s height again.

“First of all, idiot, you don’t have any room to talk about my height. You’re an overgrown beanpole and you can shut the fuck up about how tall I am.” Yaku has Lev in a headlock, rubbing his straight grey hair with the other hand, and Lev is pleading his innocence over Yaku’s ranting. “Second of all, how the hell would you expect me to be as good at guarding your big stupid idiot body if I wasn’t small enough to maneuver around easily in close-quarter combat? I couldn’t, so bite your tongue next time or I’ll shut your mouth myself.”

“Yaku-san,” Lev whines, pulling away from the smaller boy. Kenma looks over to see a wicked grin splitting Kuroo’s face.

“Yo, shut up you two, you’re so loud I bet they can hear you all the way from the ground floor.” Which is 20 stories below them. Point made.

Yaku huffs and punches Lev once more for good measure, and Lev whines and rubs his arm, but they both quiet down considerably. Yaku knows better than to rise to Kuroo’s bait (which is what the black-haired bedheaded smartass wants), and Lev follows Yaku’s lead, though it’s mostly because he doesn’t want to get punched again.

“Why do you think there hasn’t been any activity?” Kuroo asks, returning his gaze to the data pad.

“I don’t know. Maybe they know that we’re here.” Kenma’s cat-like eyes slide over to look at Kuroo. “You’re playing Legend of Zelda on that, aren’t you.” It’s an accusation rather than a question.

“Oh, like you weren’t ten minutes ago.”

“At least I didn’t try to pretend I was being productive.”

“I’m the captain of the squad, I _have_ to pretend to be productive!”

“Kuro.”

“Alright, alright, yes, I’m playing Zelda, and no, I didn’t use either of your saves. Happy?”

Kenma blinks up at Kuroo, his expression blank. But Kuroo can read his best friend like a book, for all the time they’ve spent together, and he grins, because he knows that he practically read his mind, especially when Kenma looks back up at the clouds without saying anything else.

Kuroo pretends to keep playing, but really, he’s stealing glances at Kenma. On anyone else, those dark roots would look hideous, but Kuroo can’t imagine the other without them. Well, he can, but only because he’s seen Kenma’s natural hair color before he started dying it. Looking at Kenma is like looking at the back of Kuroo’s hand; he’s memorized every inch of that face. But unlike with his own skin, he could spend every minute of the rest of his life staring at the other boy. His clear, pale complexion, which sometimes gets dusted with the faintest of pinks when Kuroo says just the right things. His carefully guarded expressions, which reveal so little to everyone else but him, and the moments when Kuroo can break through the shell and actually make Kenma wear what he’s feeling. Those bright golden eyes that miss nothing, flicking down to Kuroo’s lips, while his own gaze lingers on the soft, pink lips of the other boy…

“Kuro.” His low voice snaps Kuroo out of his daydream, and he looks to Kenma. “If you aren’t going to play, give it back.”

He sighs, wondering if he’ll ever, ever be able to resolve this stupid longing of his. Handing over the data pad, he scoots over to lay his head in Kenma’s lap after the other repositions himself to sit against the air conditioner. Kenma says nothing, just pulls up the game, turning the volume on. Kuroo watches him (he’s always watching him), watches how his eyes skip around the screen, fingers tapping away. Is this the sort of thing a person gets over? Or is it normal for people to have fantasies about their best friends? It probably is. The warm feeling he gets in his chest when Kenma falls asleep against his shoulder, the desire to protect him, and the longing for those lips to be pressed against his skin… god, it’s not a big deal. He’s always felt comforted by Kenma’s presence; he’s always felt that protective urge when it comes to his best friend. Kenma is his home, and there’s nothing more to it. That’s what he’ll keep telling himself until he meets someone he has real feelings for, and it’ll answer all of these stupid questions he has. These feelings will pass, just like feelings have passed before. There’s no reason to feel weird, or to not enjoy the present. There’s no reason to get worked up about any of it. He just needs to keep himself in line.

Either way, things have always been like this between them. Personal space became a non-problem ages ago, when they first entered the academy together, when life got hard and when they became the only people in each other’s worlds who truly mattered. When sharing a bunk became a coping mechanism for the harsh reality of life in the military. When Kuroo took to slinging an arm around Kenma’s shoulder in public to remind the people around them that there would be hell to pay for messing with the shorter boy. Their worlds have gotten bigger, since then; they have more allies than enemies at Karasuno Outpost. But still they are Kenma and Kuroo, Kuroo and Kenma. This is their status quo.

Kuroo dozes off for awhile and wakes to Kenma gently nudging him. He opens his eyes to see him staring in the direction of the intersection they’re supposed to be watching.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Something’s going on.”

Yaku and Lev have joined them as well.

“What is it, Kenma? Are the bad guys here? What are they doing? I hope we get to fight them, then I can show you my-“ Lev’s excited ramble is silenced by a flick on the ear courtesy of Yaku, who has noticed Kenma’s discomfort at all the noise. Kuroo sits up so Kenma can look down his scope while he uses the data pad (correctly, for once) to pull up a live aerial view of the intersection.

Lev seems like he can hardly sit still while he waits to find out what’s going on, green eyes flicking every which way between the buildings around them.

“I can’t… see them?” Kenma mumbles. Kuroo zooms in, trying to find whatever Kenma is sensing in the area.

 _It’s seven years ago and Kenma walks through the door to the room where their section of recruits bunk. He drags his feet, like he can barely get them to move at all. No one’s around, thank god, no one to see him like this and make a fuss that he doesn’t want, no one to prey on his weakness. It’s bad enough, he thinks, that he’s being examined and…_ studied, _he thinks with a shudder._

 _Then the floor is rushing up to meet him, and_ oh _._

_“Kuro.” He says the name like a prayer, feeling warm arms around his torso. Kuroo has caught him before he could hit the floor, and of course it’s Kuroo. No wonder he didn’t sense him in the room._

_“Kenma,” the taller boy says, scooping his limp form up and into the safety of his arms. He curls in on himself while Kuroo carries him to their bunk, feeling his eyes on him, but not the weight of his gaze. His gaze has never felt heavy to Kenma, and he doubts it ever will. “What did they do to you?”_

_Kuroo sits at the head of the bed, laying Kenma out with his head in his lap. He runs fingers through the long, dark locks, waiting patiently for his best friend to speak up. As long as it takes. But his eyes have not missed the already-forming bruises at the crease of Kenma’s elbows, or the faint, dried blood on his upper lip, and definitely not the angry red marks that dot his temples down to his neck. He doesn’t doubt that they go further, too._

_“Just. Testing.” Always testing. Kenma lets out a tired sigh. “Looking at electrical impulses.” He says it like he’s bored, like it’s no big deal, but Kuroo doesn’t mistake the edge to his voice. Just like Kenma doesn’t miss the tightening of Kuroo’s posture. “Don’t bother it, Kuro. They’ll get bored with me eventually.”_

_Kuroo closes his eyes, willing his rage under control. Kenma has never been normal. Not since the accident they had when they were younger. But at least he’d been able to hide it, until last month, when the higher ups finally caught on to Kenma’s abilities after they were all given a test rigged to out anyone with supernatural abilities. Not ones explainable by science, either, but by magic. Kenma could sense things about his surroundings – the people around him, their positions, sometimes even their thoughts or intents. He was on edge a lot, anxious, because he never, ever wanted the attention of others on him, even though a fair portion of his attention was dedicated to figuring out what they were thinking. It was an inconvenience. Kuroo was the only exception to Kenma’s ability to sense others, for reasons that neither of them really cared to understand._

_The officers at the academy had taken things too far. The test had been one thing, a cheap move maybe. But now they were_ hurting _Kenma. And Kuroo resolved then and there to do whatever he had to do to hurt them back_

“I don’t see anyone on aerial,” Kuroo says, clenching his jaw. “How many are there?”

“I… seven.”

“Seven?”

Kenma looks up at Kuroo from his sniper rifle, for one second, and his mouth opens as if to say something. Those pink lips part, but the sound they all hear is a gunshot, not the quiet words he was about to utter.

Something is going down, and it’s their job to stop it.

“Go!” Kenma hisses, repositioning himself.

Kuroo, Lev, and Yaku share a glance and a nod, and leap off the edge of the roof.

Lev whoops as the air rushes by them, and the look on Yaku’s face makes it clear that if they weren’t falling at a frightening rate towards the pavement below, Lev would be in a headlock right now. Kuroo grins, waiting for it…

Three shots ring out, from the top of the building, and round, white glyphs form at their feet, slowing their fall until their feet settle on the ground, touching down gently. Thank you, Kenma.

There’s a wicked glint in Kuroo’s eyes as he draws a blade handle from his hip holster and the red blade sparks to life in his hand. Yaku’s fastening leather bracelets around each wrist, and Lev grins and draws a simple mark on his forearm, a flaming green bow curling forth from his hand.

“Ready?” he says after they’ve all tucked earphones into their ears. Two nods later, Kuroo’s taking point with Yaku to his left and Lev to his right as they sprint forward.

“Take a left,” Kenma says, and they instantly comply. Kuroo may be the captain, but they all recognize Kenma as the heart and brains of their team.

“What’re you sensing, Kenma?”

“God, I don’t know. Something’s interfering.”

Kuroo stops at the sound of a gunshot above them, and glass rains down on the street below. “Spotted ‘em. Now we know why we couldn’t see them, they’re in a damn building.”

Yaku pulls a handgun from the holster at his back, shooting up the side of the building, back and forth as he goes. Small blue squares appear at specific points along the bullets’ trajectories. They’re like compact trampolines – he’s made a way for them to get up to the floor where the fighting’s happening without using the stairs. Yaku leads off, jumping on the first one and using its propulsive force to vault towards the second one, and the other two follow him up the building. Lev misses once, but Kenma uses his new position to shoot another platform for him to correct himself with. He laughs when Kenma grumbles something about ‘reckless rookies.’

Yaku rolls through the shattered window with practiced ease, raising a green, translucent, hexagonal shield in front of himself while Kuroo and Lev vault in behind him.

The sight they find is not a pretty one – two bodies, dark red blood seeping into the carpet beneath them, lay motionless on the floor. Kuroo takes care not to look too closely at them, and Yaku reaches for Lev’s arm when he realizes the tall boy is staring. He never reaches his arm, though, because at that exact moment, the wall to their left explodes.

Yaku – god bless him – has the foresight to throw up concentrated shields in front of their heads as the rubble bursts towards them. The three are still sent flying when the debris strikes them, hard; but his quick thinking keeps them conscious as they fall, buried somewhat by the chunks of wall.

The dust has yet to settle, and Kuroo shifts material off of himself, trying to sit up. Ah, that’s blood. Not good. Where is his sword? Fuck.

“What do we have here?” A tall, curvacious woman strides forward, all wavy red hair and dressed like she’s about to represent someone in court. Three men flank her, advancing as she does. There’s another pop of gunfire, and she halts, drawing back from the spinning symbol on the floor between her and the three boys who are hurriedly trying to free themselves. “Oh, interesting. So there are more of you military types around?” Her gaze travels out the window, in Kenma’s general direction.

Yaku is the first to free himself, giving Kuroo a hand and pulling him upright with a shield at his back, the leather at his wrists glowing where runes have been very obviously cut into the material. Kuroo starts working on pulling Lev’s hulking form out of the mess while Yaku continues to guard them, unsure of what the woman’s next play will be.

With Lev up, bow drawn, and Kuroo standing with his sword at the ready, they tighten their formation again, careful of the uneven footing.

The woman’s hand slides into a pocket, withdrawing an ornately carved knife. She flips it nimbly in her hand, and throws it at the rune between them, shattering it and the barrier it has created. More shots ring from outside, but they’re deflected by two of the three men.

“Kenma, play for the long game,” Kuroo says into his comm. He needs Kenma to start thinking, planning, using that wonderful brain of his to come up with an endgame for this fight so that they come out on top. Kenma’s shots stop, and the knife in the floor flings itself back into the woman’s grip. “Here we go.”

Kuroo springs forward, all grace, his sword in both hands. He heads straight for the woman, while Yaku starts firing off rounds throughout the space around them. More blue platforms appear in the air, and just like that, he’s jumping between the fight, like a human pinball. Two of the men pull out automatic weapons – and not the nice kind, these are the kind that fire very real, very deadly bullets, as opposed to the nonlethal rounds that the military uses. Yaku intercepts, throwing up small shields with pinpoint accuracy, weaving around the fight with a fluidity that practically screams experience. Lev engages the third man, firing arrow after arrow at him, gritting his teeth as his opponent deflects his shots with his bare hands.

They need to break this pattern, need to even the odds somewhat. They’re going to run out of mana at this rate, and if the others start using magic…

Kuroo, for his part, is up against the most skilled of the four enemies. The woman’s blade flashes against his sword, sparks dancing along the edge. He draws his sword at her, one-handed, from the right. She deflects and tries to run it along the edge of the blade, her goal clearly to disarm him. But she’s miscalculated – Kuroo didn’t switch to a onehanded grip by accident. In his left hand is a pistol, and he forces her to draw back when he fires at her. There’s a good three feet between them now, and Kuroo grins at her. He’s always grinning during moments like this, because not only is fighting _fun_ , he’s _good_ at it. The woman seems to finally realize this.

Her knife flashes, and blood splatters against the carpet. Kuroo blinks for a second, registering what has just happened – she’s killed one of her own men. He lets out a gargled shriek, clutching at his throat. Blood wells up between his fingers and pours out onto the floor. Yaku’s movements stutter at the sight, and he nearly misses a jump.

“Focus!” Kuroo snaps at them, charging the woman before her knife can get back to her – drawn to her hand as if magnetically. He hesitated too long, though. She snatches her weapon out of the air, meeting him midstrike.

“Yaku-san!” Lev yells, and Yaku drops, taking his platforms with him. Lev’s next bolt of energy shoots through the space that Yaku had been jumping through, sinking into the front of a heavy, wooden desk. He drops his bow, reaching out into the open air for something no one else can see, until a string of green energy connects his hand to the desk.

“Kuro, draw her back,” Kenma says over the earpieces. Kuroo allows himself to go on the defensive, while Yaku continues intercepting the bullets of the one remaining gunner.

Lev grips the energy rope with both hands and jerks it back like a whip. The desk on the other end flies back towards him, and right into the unguarded backs of the two men. They fly forward, and are met with Yaku’s shield, slamming into it with a force that pushes the smaller boy back a few feet, even though he’s bracing himself against them. They slump to the floor, unconscious.

Lev seems to relax, about to say something, but he’s cut off as Kenma speaks again. “Don’t let your guard down.”

And Kenma was right to say so; the floor where the first of the three men fell glows in every spot the blood touches. And soon, something dark and _evil_ is rising from its depths, curling towards the ceiling. As it rises, it assumes a tall, looming, humanesque form, but it’s all wrong. Arms don’t bend that way. And its eyes, a burning red, leer at them from the consuming darkness of its form.

The woman, while muttering something in an unearthly language, raises her free hand and points at Kuroo, who suddenly feels a burning on the skin of his chest. The Gaunt’s gaze focuses clearly on him, and it takes a step forward, screaming out in an unearthly tone, making each of them flinch. The woman acts unaffected by the noise, and thrusts the knife towards Kuroo’s throat.

A ‘ping’ resounds in their ears. And the woman freezes in place. Her eyes, the only part of her body that can still move, dart around frantically, trying to find the source of her immobility.

The floor glows golden below her feet, a circle full of markings mocking her where she stands.

Kuroo smiles at her, and fires a round into her shoulder, indifferent to the buzz of the electricity the bullet sends through her system, rendering her unconscious, still stuck in place above the glyph.

“Good job, Kenma,” he says, putting his handgun away for the time being, fully intending to focus on the Gaunt with his sword. He knows, because he knows the boy behind the gun so well, that Kenma had planted that trap there along with the original barrier glyph. But it’s not a simple spell; it’s one that takes time to work out. He laid the basework with the first shot, but the real work comes in with maintaining the foundation while building the trap. He imagines just how Kenma’s brow furrows in moments like that, focusing as draws the glyphs in the open air with one hand to form the trap. Kuroo can guess that Kenma had been ready to play the long game even before he told him to do so – because that’s how Kenma is. He’s always strategizing.

“My head hurts,” Kenma whines.

“Take it easy, then. You’ve done enough.”

Lev fires shot after shot at the Gaunt. It’s a mid-level undead class, and shouldn’t be too much trouble, especially since he switched over to purification spells. Yaku steps back, ready to come between his teammates and any danger that comes their way. Well, other than the Gaunt itself, of course (he’s not much help when it comes to offense). The thing’s focusing on Kuroo, though, only being kept at bay by Lev’s work.

“Keep shooting it for a minute, Lev,” Kuroo says, pulling the top of his uniform open. And, fuck. Burned into his skin is a rune that clearly reads ‘target.’ It’s the source of the pain he’d felt when the woman had gestured at him. “Yaku, knife!” he barks, catching the one that Yaku throws his way. He bites the inside of his cheek, bracing himself, and then draws the blade against his skin, intersecting the outermost circle of the marking.

The reaction is immediate. With the rune no longer in tact, the Gaunt doesn’t have a specific target anymore. It turns to bear down on Lev, its most immediate threat. Kuroo drops the knife (he can deal with the wound later), and takes his sword back into both hands. He charges the Gaunt, and slashes it clean through. It screams, dissolving into tiny black motes that ghost upwards into the sky, and disappear.

“Fuck,” he says with a sigh. His heart is still pumping, unwilling to believe that the danger has passed. “Good job, as usual, guys. Kenma, you can release the trap now, you know.” It vanishes, and the woman crumbles to the floor. He feels zero pity for her.

“You alright?” Yaku asks, breathing hard himself.

“Fine. I’ll deal with it when we get back. You two okay?”

Yaku nods, his attention on Lev, who is bleeding freely from one of his arms, and trying to shake the shorter boy off while whining. Yaku is stubbornly insisting on taking a look, and Lev is stubbornly insisting that he ‘just bleeds a lot it’s no big deal.’

Kuroo pulls a few warded handcuffs out of the small pouch on his belt, grateful for the pouch has an extension charm on it, which saves him the time of having to run back to their makeshift camp to pick some up. He hooks two pairs around the unconscious men, giving the third a wistful look. True, the man had been trying to kill him and his friends, but… they were expected to minimize casualties, opting for nonlethal neutralization of targets instead. It was a damn shame. And to be used by your boss as a sacrifice to summon an undead monster? Shitty way to go, as far as Kuroo’s concerned.

He puts the third pair on the woman, glad that at least _she_ got out of it alive. She has information, and hopefully the things the interrogation teams learn from her will help prevent further loss of life caused by Arcane.

Kuroo looks around, surveying the mess they’ve made. The two bodies on the floor from when they first arrived are buried under the broken wall.

“Yaku,” he says sharply, pulling the boy from his argument. “How many bodies were here when we got here?”

“Two,” Yaku says, tilting his head in confusion. Lev nods, leaning an elbow on Yaku’s bright red hair like he’s an armrest. Yaki swats at him. “Why?”

“Two when we got here. The woman, her three stooges…” Kuroo’s head snaps up. “Six? That’s not right. Kenma said seven, so why-“

And then, Kenma screams.

 

= = =

 

Several blocks away, Ushijima Wakatoshi sets his jaw and turns away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. oho? ohoho??
> 
> 2\. if you spot any errors, any awkward patches, ooc-ness, any of that, please let me know! i feel a little unsure of certain parts of this, so constructive (and gentle im weak) criticism is welcome! (i don't have an official beta... so if anyone is interested message me on tumblr pls)
> 
> 3\. quick explanation, since it may not be fully clear: dark magic - arcane - requires sacrifices as a source of energy. light magic - (i dont have a name for it oops) - is magic based on the wielder's mana/innate ability. (i'll get more into it later, there's a lot more to come in this subject.)
> 
> 4\. i'm possibly looking for someone to help me with smut scenes in the future. let me know if you know someone or are willing to help me!
> 
> 5\. any questions? ¿dudas?
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and again, find me @abnels on tumblr!


	2. Something New, Something Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You fall asleep in the foothills, and the wolf comes down from the mountains. And you hope someone will wake you up. Or chase it off. Or shoot it dead. But when you realize that the wolf is inside you, that's when you know. You can't run from it. And no one who loves you can kill the wolf, because it's part of you. They see your face on it. And they won't fire the shot." -Ava Dellaira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AGAIN! trigger warnings for this chapter: blood/violence/character death. stop reading at "but he feels like his nerves" and pick up again at "his lip wobbles." it's sort of hard to skip over because like... it's an important event? but please be careful and take care of yourself!
> 
> i'm also in desperate need of a beta. please let me know if you're interested!! 
> 
> between being out of the country, school starting up, and a broken laptop, this chapter took me awhile. but it's like, 12k words, so i don't want to hear any complaining!! ; ) thanks for reading, i hope you enjoy!

Kageyama shouldn’t be here. He knows this, and yet, here he is, sneaking into one of the tech rooms. It’s for a good cause, he reasons, even though that’s… okay, honestly, that’s debatable. Cadet records are public – except their disciplinary histories – so it’s not like he’s breaking any rules. But his cause is a little too based on self-interest to be considered entirely innocent, so he’d rather be in and out without anyone knowing about it. He doesn’t even want to imagine the rumors that would fly around if someone were to walk in right now.

 

He enters his credentials into the system and taps his fingers on the desk while the machine processes the information at a slow crawl.

 

The past week has left him distracted and restless. He can’t get stupid Hinata out of his head, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. His shots have been off, which has made his temper shorter than usual, which in turn makes his shots _even worse_. He needs to take care of this before it becomes a Verifiable Problem. He has to get whatever his deal is with the bright-haired boy out of his system, and rationalize exactly why he’s gotten under his skin so easily, before his missed shots translate into liabilities.

 

Kageyama Tobio cannot become a liability.

 

The computer finally accepts his login info, and the home screen brightens the dark room. He pulls up the cadet database, quickly keying in his access codes again. Soon he’s faced with a blank search page within the domain, and he types ‘Hinata Shouyou’ into the box. Kageyama hits the enter button, and waits.

 

A few moments later Hinata’s profile pops up on the screen. Kageyama’s eyes narrow as he scans the words. Date of birth: June 21. Height: 162.8 cm. He groans. This isn’t the information he’s after – he knew Hinata was short even without snooping through his personal file. He scrolls down, down, down, until he finally sees the information he’s after.

 

_Aptitude Test Results._

 

What he sees shocks him to the core. Hinata has almost _no_ aptitude for any branch of magic; healing, combat, defense… his eyes travel down the long list of different types of magic and general combat skills, reading low score after low score, until…

 

_Agility: 94th percentile_

_Stamina: 94th percentile_

_Physical Ability (Gen.): 91st percentile_

_Arcane: 80th percentile_

_Mana: 99th percentile_

 

It explains so much so suddenly that Kageyama has to remind himself to breathe. Hinata is a fountain of untapped potential. He has no talent for casting, for spells… but his physical ability was at least something of a compensation for these things. His _Mana_ levels, however… Kageyama has never seen anyone with such high levels. The thought irks him. It makes him at least consider Hinata on the grounds of being his equal at something – and that isn’t something he wants to think. Because it’s so much easier to just hate Hinata, to brush him off. But he has to acknowledge the amount of work the other must have put forth to get where he is now, on a squad in the field, and not behind a desk where someone with scores like his _should_ be. He must have wanted this badly, and it only sparks a million new questions where there were previously only a few (this only serves to piss him off, because he came in here wanting to get rid of his questions altogether). The amount of work it must take for Hinata to power his sword alone makes Kageyama grind his teeth in frustration.

 

It’s such a collosal waste of Mana. Hinata can’t even _use_ it.

 

He needs to think about something else. He looks up Tsukishima’s profile, because he might as well, since he’s already here. The results he finds are higher than what he expects; average to above average scores across the board, except for the few categories in which he’s somewhat lacking – healing, agility, various others that he doesn’t linger over. Whatever talents the tall blonde has, he isn’t really tapping into them. It only serves to make Kageyama’s temper to burn hotter than it already is. Exactly how much wasted potential does he have on his team? And why the _hell_ aren’t they giving it their all?

 

Yamaguchi’s scores are more in line with what he expects. He doesn’t seem to excel at anything in particular, though his scores are pretty solid. But something near the bottom of the page catches his attention. There’s a symbol, one he’s never seen before. He hovers the mouse over the icon and clicks – and what he finds shocks him.

 

Yamaguchi has a Familiar. _Hachiko_ , Kageyama reads from the profile. And when he finds the list of previous Contractors, he’s surprised to find that there is only one.

 

Tsukishima Akiteru.

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

 

Yamaguchi tucks his hands into his pockets as he trudges out of the mess hall. He’s alone, for once, and though he’s not uncomfortable without his best friend at his side, he’s a little uneasy at the stares he’s receiving as he dumps his dinner tray and sets it in the stack with the others.

 

He runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes low and his expression uninviting. It’s been awhile since anyone has tried to pick a fight with him, and it has never happened to him at Karasuno – but old habits die hard. He’s had too many run-ins with undesirable people in the past to let his guard down now.

 

Yamaguchi doesn’t know exactly what it is about him that consistently draws all the negative attention; when he was young, it was his freckled complexion. The reason throughout the years has changed, though; his average abilities when it came to magic, how quiet he was, the fact that the person who grew to be his best friend was significantly more talented than him. He figures that he’s just one of those people that tend to be disliked. But more than that, he feels misunderstood.

 

He runs a hand along the smooth, marine grey wall of the hallway out of habit. Sometimes it’s nice to know that the world around him is just as solid and tangible as ever before. The majority of the interior of the base – all four stories – is painted the same muted shade of blue-grey, no matter whether the walls are made of brick or drywall. Most of the floors are tiled white, although living quarters or meeting rooms often have very different color schemes. Yamaguchi thinks it’s odd, considering the generally sterile white coloring of the academy he had been trained at. But then, Karasuno is pretty much the definition of odd, so he thinks he shouldn’t be so surprised about it.

 

He’s heading for the base’s simulation room, and his path takes him by the front entrance to the building. When he gets there, he’s stopped short by the flock of people crowding around the front doors of the base. There are lots of loud voices and general commotion.

 

But then he hears someone yell, “GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

 

And Kuroo breaks through the crowd at a run with a limp Kenma in his arms. Several people run after them, and Yamaguchi overhears one of them say ‘med bay.’

 

Yamaguchi bites his lip and runs his fingers against the back of his neck. It’s painfully obvious that something _bad_ happened while Bravo Squad was on their away mission. The contents of his stomach turn when he catches Yaku dragging Lev towards the med bay wearing a stricken expression.

 

That’s when his Familiar appears, popping into existence in the air to the right of his head. Yamaguchi jumps back against the wall, clutching the fabric of his shirt over his heart.

 

“God, Hachi-chan, you _scared_ me!” The Akita spirit looks down at him, its doggy eyebrows rising as it crosses its paws, floating in midair.

 

That _doesn’t look good_ , Hachiko comments, choosing to ignore his Host’s surprise.

 

“What happened?” Yamaguchi asks a short boy standing on the edge of the crowd. The boy squints at him, and balks when he sees the nametag pinned to Yamaguchi’s chest.

 

“As far as I can tell, Kozume-san was hurt in the field. You’ll have to ask the higher ups for more info than that.” The boy turns away, clearly considering their conversation over. Yamaguchi feels his heart drop, both at the news and the boy’s attitude towards him.

 

 _There’s more to it than he’s letting on_ , the dog spirit tells him. _Go to the med bay_.

 

He groans. He can feel a pull in the complete opposite direction that Hachiko is telling him to go, a pull that he knows will lead him to Tsukki. But the spirit would be a hassle if he ignored him. “Fine,” he sighs, and heads back in the direction that he came from.

 

Hachiko trots alongside him in the air, his tail flicking back and forth with each silent step.

 

“Is there anything we can do about it?”

 

 _Would I have asked you to go if there weren’t_?

 

Yamaguchi glances at the dog, a thin smile quirking his lip. “Maybe.” Hachiko huffs at him in annoyance.

 

They pass someone in the hallway who shoots him a weird look, and his face burns with embarrassment. He knows that it must seem odd to everyone else; it probably looks like Yamaguchi is talking to himself. His Familiar rarely chooses to take a truly physical form, instead preferring his ghost-like transluscence, which only Yamaguchi and other people with Familiars can see. He’s _tried_ to convince Hachiko to stop making him look stupid in public, but the dog is more than a little stubborn (though it would be an entirely different problem if it actually complied). It’s not like he needs more reasons for people to dislike him, though. Not that they seem to have legitimate reasons in the first place.

 

Yamaguchi reaches the med bay and leans against the wall outside the doorway, taking a deep breath. There’s a lot of commotion; it sounds like Kuroo is shouting at the doctors. Hachiko trots into the room like he owns the place, and Yamaguchi reluctantly follows.

 

Lev is holding Kuroo back from behind, his arms locked around the other boys’ from behind, while Yaku pushes against Kuroo from the front. Kenma is barely visible through the orderlies surrounding his bed, who are getting to work on him immediately.

 

“Kuroo, chill out! There’s nothing you can do right now!” When Kuroo doesn’t respond, Yaku reaches up and slaps him across the face. Yamaguchi winces sympathetically, but the slap startles Kuroo enough that he stops trying to drag Lev across the room. “Let them take care of him for a bit. Relax. He’s safe here.” Kuroo staggers back and collapses on an empty bed nearby. Yaku steps towards his side and pulls his head against his chest, running fingers through his hair. He and Lev share a significant look, and Lev shakes his head once.

 

Yamaguchi glances around, looking for Hachiko – but the dog isn’t within his sight. He knows intuitively, however, that he’s still around; he can feel the warmth inside himself that comes with the dog’s presence. It only takes two steps forward to catch a glimpse of light tan fur between two of the many nurses surrounding Kenma.

 

“Yamaguchi-kun!” Lev yells. He recoils from the glare Yaku shoots his way for being loud, but he still bounds over to Yamaguchi with a thin smile stretched across his face.

 

He nods once by way of greeting, and, in a low voice, asks the taller boy, “What happened?”

 

“Kenma-san was hurt while we were away… We aren’t sure what happened to him, he was at his sniping spot when he was attacked, so we couldn’t see. By the time we got there, he was unconscious, and whoever attacked him was gone.”

 

 _It was a psychic attack_.

 

Yamaguchi jumps in surprise at the reappearance of his Familiar. Another drawback of the dog choosing a spirit-like form: Yamaguchi never hears him approach. Hachiko sits down in the air next to him, acting as if his Host hadn’t just jumped a mile into the air.

 

Lev looks around with wide green eyes, trying to figure out what Yamaguchi is staring at.

 

“How do you know?”

 

 _He smells like Arcane. A particular brand of Arcane that, quite frankly, I’m not comfortable having you anywhere near_.

 

“Well it’s not like it’s contagious. I’ll be alright.” He rolls his eyes. “Is there anything else you can tell about him?”

 

 _No._ Hachiko shakes his head. The fur on his back is sticking up. _And it is not contagious. But there are risks, and I don’t want you exposed to them_.

 

“Who are you talking to?” Lev interrupts, making Yamaguchi jump again. His face burns.

 

“N. No one, I mean, myself.”

 

“It sounded like you were having a conversation,” Lev presses, leaning towards the brunette. “Is there someone there that I can’t see? A ghost?”

 

Yamaguchi wishes Lev would quiet down. Of all the people he doesn’t want knowing about Hachiko, it’s Lev, since he’s prone to rambling without filtering anything he says. It’s not like Hachiko is a dark secret that no one knows about, but Yamaguchi doesn’t want to give anyone more reasons to hate him. Jealousy is a dangerous emotion, and he’s heard stories about people killing Hosts in an attempt to win over their Familiar. And even more importantly, he can’t tell Tsukishima. He’ll die before he does.

 

So he gestures for Lev to lower himself more to his level, and answers him in a low voice.

 

“If you can… keep it between us, I’ll tell you.” He can practically feel Hachiko’s eyes burning holes in the side of his face. But what else is he supposed to do? Lev isn’t the kind of person who gives up when he wants something. So he opts to minimize the collateral, hoping against hope that it doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass later.

 

Lev seems to think this over with a puzzled expression. “Can I tell Yaku?”

 

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen. If anyone can keep Lev’s mouth shut, it’s Yaku. And he’s intuitive enough to know that the information isn’t for sharing with just anyone. Why didn’t he think of that himself? “Yes. Actually, make sure you tell him.” Grey hair bobs in his field of vision as Lev makes a solemn expression and nods, eyes sparkling with excitement.

 

He sighs. “I have a Familiar. He’s sitting next to me. And glaring at you.” Yamaguchi stifles a laugh, because it’s true.

 

 _What? He’s a_ cat _person. Of course I’m going to judge him._

 

Yamaguchi just grins.

 

“You do? He is? What is he saying?!” Lev looks like he’s about to bounce around the room. Yamaguchi presses a finger to his lips to remind the other boy to keep it down. “Oh! Sorry.” Lev takes on a conspiratorial air, glancing around to make sure no one is listening. Sometimes Yamaguchi forgets that they’re around the same age.

 

“Yes, I do. And yes, he is. He says you’re a cat person.” The taller boy nods enthusiastically. If he keeps doing that, his head is going to flop off at some point, Yamaguchi thinks. Hachiko huffs contemptuously. “Be nice, Hachi-chan.”

 

“Hachi-chan? Is that his name? How did you get him?”

 

 _He talks a lot_.

 

Yamaguchi grins, exhasperated. “Yes, that’s his name. Or what I call him, at least. I didn’t _get_ him, Lev-kun. He found me. Or, chose me, more like it. Has anyone taught you about Familiars?”

 

Lev shrugs noncommittaly.

 

“Okay, I’m going to give you a brief explanation, then, I guess. Familiars are sort of like. Spirits, I guess. But they’re also the embodiments of weapons. You know that much, right?” He’s answered with a nod. “Well, they don’t choose just anybody. They’re picky.”

 

Hachiko snuffs again, looking down his nose at Yamaguchi.

 

“Well, it’s true!” he says defensively, holding up his hands. Lev’s green eyes flick towards his face and towards the space to his side. “He’s over here, Lev-kun.”

 

“Why can’t I see him?” Lev asks, pouting.

 

“Because he’s not Contracted to you.”  
  
“Contracted?”

 

“Yeah. Familiars choose people, but that isn’t the entire process. The people they choose have to agree to host them, and they make a sort of… deal, I guess.”

 

“That’s so cool! Yamaguchi-kun, you’re like, special or something!”

 

Yamaguchi turns red and shakes his head. He’s not special. He didn’t do this to gain power, and he didn’t do it because Hachiko was particularly attached to him. Yamaguchi did this out of sacrifice. Hachiko will not grant him a weapon. He won’t help him protect what is dearest to him, not in a life-or-death fight. He will not make him stronger.

 

Yamaguchi is weak. He can’t properly protect anyone.

 

Hachiko gives him a sidelong glance, but doesn’t comment.

 

“Lev-kun, I’m. Going to go now, there’s somewhere I need to be.” There isn’t, but he doesn’t want to be here right now, under the gaze of someone who thinks that he’s better than he really is. “Tell them that Kenma was psychically attacked. Tell them I told you. They won’t ask. And please. _Please_ , only Yaku can know about this. Please Lev.”

 

Lev’s eyebrows raise at the despiration in his tone and nods with wide eyes, but Yamaguchi turns and leaves the ward without a goodbye.

 

He walks at a faster pace, following that pull in his chest from earlier and trying not to think about how things just seem to complicate themselves on a daily basis.

 

It’s dark by now, and he knows where to go even if he didn’t have an internal navigation system guiding him in the right direction. There’s only one person he wants to see at the moment, and that person is definitely on the roof, looking at the stars, just like he always does this time of night. (Sometimes Yamaguchi thinks that it’s pointless for him to have an internalized Tsukki-radar. He knows his best friend like the back of his hand.)

 

_Do you really believe those things?_

 

Yamaguchi groans. Why is he still here?

 

He decides to feign ignorance. “What things?”

 

_You know what things. Those things you were thinking about yourself._

 

“Well, they’re true, Hachi-chan. It’s fine, though. It doesn’t bother me.” It does bother him. But Hachiko doesn’t press the issue, instead opting for a different topic.

 

_You don’t have to hold onto this, you know. You remember that much, right?_

 

He groans again. How many times were they going to have this discussion? “Like I could forget. I’m not doing _that_. I’m not going to do that to Tsukki. You’re _my_ problem, okay?”

 

_This is going to backfire on you, Yamaguchi._

 

“Yeah yeah,” Yamaguchi waves a hand in the air, trying to brush off the spirit. “I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it. It’s fine. I’m fine.” It isn’t and he’s not. Yamaguchi climbs the stairs quickly, just wanting to get out of this claustrophobic stairwell and into the crisp, cool air of the evening. The pull in his chest gets stronger the higher he goes.

 

Hachiko snuffs at him. _As long as you haven’t forgotten._

 

“I haven’t,” he snaps. Sometimes his Familiar doesn’t know when to let sleeping dogs lay. Actually, he’s probably bringing it up precisely just to bother Yamaguchi. “And you know that I know, so stop. reminding. me. Please, Hachiko.”

 

The Akita fades into nothingness again as he shoulders the door to the roof open and shoves his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. Finally, some peace and quiet.

 

He breaks into a grin when he sees the golden hair of the tall boy leaning against the railing of the roof, his curls reflecting the moonlight.

 

“Tsukki!” he calls out, his smile burning brighter than ever.

 

Tsukishima turns his head over his shoulder to him, the light reflecting off of his glasses. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

 

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he answers with an easy laugh, joining his best friend at the railing. There are a thousand different Shut Ups that Tsukki uses. That particular Shut Up means ‘you’re being too loud.’ But it’s not meant as an admonishment; it’s more like a verbal sigh. Though it has taken him years, Yamaguchi is a master of the subtleties of Tsukishima Kei. He points up at the stars. “They’re bright tonight.”

 

The blonde’s gaze returns to the night sky, tracing the bright constellations splashed across the navy night with his golden eyes. “Aa, they are. At least there’s _one_ redeeming quality of living in this shit outpost.”

 

Yamaguchi grins. “Try not to act so positive, I’ll think you’ve been impersonated.”

 

Tsukishima shoots him a dirty look. “ _You_ clearly haven’t been impersonated, you’re just as annoying as ever.” Yamaguchi just sticks his tongue out at him, and Tsukishima can’t hold his straight face any longer. They both burst into laughter, the unrestrained, friendly kind that doesn’t usually happen around other people.

 

Yamaguchi doesn’t have words for how grateful he is to have a best friend like Tsukki. Just thinking about it makes emotions well up inside his chest.

 

“Any reason you’re out here again?” he asks after a period of comfortable silence.

 

“I just got sick of listening to those two idiots argue and I needed some fresh air to try and clear the stupid out of my head.”

 

“Do you think they’ll ever stop arguing?” Hinata and Kageyama had been extra snippy with each other since their last mission two days ago. “Do you think something happened?”

 

“God, they probably won’t. Just our luck. And who cares if something happened? If they can’t work it out, they’ll get kicked off the team and they’ll be out of our hair.”

 

Yamaguchi is quiet for a minute, thinking. He doesn’t hate Hinata, and he feels neutral about Kageyama (and maybe a little afraid too), but their squabbling gets old, fast. “I don’t think that’ll happen. They want to be out there fighting way too much for that. They’d probably rather die.”

 

“Hot-blooded idiots.”

 

He frowns, leaning one hand. Yamaguchi doesn’t really agree with Tsukishima’s opinion about that, but he’s known the other boy for too long to try and argue with him. He knows that Tsukishima has his reasons for never putting his heart into things. The last time he did, it got broken.

 

“Were you thinking about Akiteru-kun?” Yamaguchi asks in a quiet voice.

 

Tsukishima _glares_ at him. He holds his hands up, as if that will prove his innocence.

 

“Well, you were, weren’t you?” The other boy doesn’t answer, he just looks back up at the sky. Yamaguchi doesn’t know why he asks stupid things like that. He’s killed the conversation. But a part of him just desperately wants his best friend to know that he isn’t alone anymore. Unfortunately for him, Tsukishima has a hard time letting himself believe that. He has a history of not letting anyone or anything within his personal orbit – even Yamaguchi can’t say he’s fully managed it. “Just. I don’t think Akiteru-kun would like knowing you weren’t happy for some reason or another. You know?”

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” This time, Shut Up means Shut Up.

 

“Gomen, Tsukki.”

 

He never should have brought it up. And now, he realizes with a sigh, Hachiko is back, staring at Tsukishima from the other side of Yamaguchi. He silently tries to urge the dog to just leave, leave them in (relative) peace and quiet. But once again, he knows better. Yamaguchi isn’t strong, but he _is_ smart. Hachiko isn’t here by chance. He’s here because he could sense the same thing that Yamaguchi could sense. It’s the thing that ties them together, binds them beyond natural limits, to something transcendent.

 

Because Tsukishima _was_ thinking about Akiteru.

 

And Akiteru is dead.

 

And Yamaguchi is pretty sure that it’s Hachiko’s fault.

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

 

“Oikawa, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m turning around and leaving your ass here to deal with the guy by yourself.” Iwaizumi looks to make good on his promise, too, stopping in his tracks so that Oikawa, who was looking the other way, walks right into him.

 

“Ow! Iwa-chan, watch where I’m walking!” Oikawa rubs his nose.

 

“That’s it, I’m out.” He turns on his heel, brushing Oikawa aside with one hand. His progress is blocked when the other boy grabs the back of his jacket and holds him in place.

 

“No! Don’t go!” Iwaizumi glares at him over his shoulder. “Really, I’ll be quiet, I swear!”

 

They both know that’s a lie, but Iwaizumi still lets Oikawa drag him back the way they have been walking for the past half an hour. They’re on their way to meet with a man who is known to deal clean sources of Arcane fuel – clean here meaning he obtained them fair and square by paying good money for them. Items like family heirlooms, favorite objects, a lucky gym sock; they’re all items that can be ‘sacrificed’ (though Oikawa argues that a better word is _converted_ ) into Arcane.

 

Iwaizumi has come along today because this dealer is usually a handful. Oikawa, charismatic though he may be, lacks in the physical intimidation department ( _“Iwa-chan is just bitter because I’m pretty instead of scary looking like he is- OW!”_ ), and physical intimidation is just about the only thing the guy responds to. Oikawa didn’t beg him to come along, but he didn’t need to in the first place. If Iwaizumi wasn’t around to keep him in line, there’s no doubt in his mind that Oikawa would have no qualms against doing less-than-savory things in order to use Arcane in addition to Mana-based spells (he can do both, the fucker).

 

It isn’t that Iwaizumi likes him using Arcane in the first place, and he’s done all he can in order to put a stop to it. But Oikawa has always been fickle, like trying to hold on to a wet bar of soap; the harder you squeeze to keep it in place, the more it wants to slip away from you completely. He knows better, though. He’s seen the look in his boyfriend’s eyes on his sleepless nights when the fear of nightmares keeps him awake for hours, days, until Iwaizumi can cuddle or fuck Tooru until he’s finally calm enough to sleep. He’s sure that Oikawa has done things he isn’t proud of, sure because he’s known him through the entirety of their lives; he’s heard about these things firsthand, and he’s actually _seen_ some of them. He remembers back in the days when they had families to take care of them, he remembers the time when Oikawa fell off the deep end into Arcane and it cost everything precious to them for Iwaizumi to get him back.

 

Because Arcane always comes with a price, and Oikawa has paid it a hundred times over.

 

They get to the building at last and Oikawa skips ahead, singing an old song that Iwaizumi can barely remember (and one that he probably tried very hard to forget in the first place, judging by the lyrics). The front doors were once glass, but looters or age has left them as empty frames. Oikawa ducks and slides right through the gap. Iwaizumi follows with his hands in his pockets, glancing towards the shadowy corners of the room, wary of finding more than dust in them.

 

Just like every week when they meet this guy, Oikawa waits for Iwaizumi to shoulder open the heavy burgandy door to the back room, where the employees probably used to meet. Now it’s usually vacant except for spiders, if the cobwebs are anything to go by.

 

“What do you think he’ll have this time?” It’s a game they play, try to guess what weird shit people have sold to the dealer for some money to help them get by. It passes the time while they wait.

 

“A pair of my grandma’s underwear.”

 

“Iwa-chan, tasteless! Your grandma probably didn’t wear any. She was probably a nudist.”

 

Iwaizumi sighs. “Either way, they wouldn’t have looked good on you.”

  
“What?!” Oikawa sputters, jumping up and walking over to get into Iwaizumi’s personal space. “First of all, _gross_ ; second of all, I would _never_ wear something that hideous; and finally, if I was forced to on pain of death, I would _absolutely_ pull them off!” He pokes the darker-haired boy on the chest with each point he makes.

 

Iwaizumi laughs, even through his blush over thinking about Oikawa in underwear, granny panties or other. “You’re so full of yourself, Asskawa, don’t you- oh.”

 

The other door to the meeting room opens and closes; it leads directly outside, and temporarily blinds them with the daylight.

 

Alarm bells go off in his head. This isn’t the usual guy. First and foremost, the guy is way too tall, and second of all, he’s not carrying any sort of bag full of shit to sell. The door closes with a snap and it takes only a second for Iwaizumi’s eyes to adjust to see exactly who the stranger is, only to realize that it isn’t a stranger.

 

He wishes it was.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says on his right, in a tone that betrays nothing, no emotions. This is the voice Oikawa uses in the face of his enemies. It's an empty, hollow tone that Iwaizumi finds more frightening than anything, because more often than not, it means his best friend is not completely in control of himself. He doesn't need to look at Oikawa’s face to know what's written there despite his vacant tone, and Hajime doesn't doubt that he himself is wearing the same look. Unadulterated hatred for the man standing in front of them, Ushijima Wakatoshi, a catalyst of a human being bound in muscle and a steely gaze. Iwaizumi finds himself reaching forward to take Oikawa’s wrist, fingers pressed against his pulse point, playing things by ear – Oikawa’s pulse tells him everythings he needs to know.

 

The problem is, he thinks, Ushiwaka knows exactly what he is doing by setting up this meeting between them. By luring them here, veiling their encounter in the garb of a simple business transaction under another person's name... They’re unspoken, his intentions are, because he easily could have called Oikawa out without needing to resort to subterfuge, but the fact remains that he didn't. This, in Iwaizumi’s opinion, speaks for his motives loud and clear. Because it means that Ushiwaka is up to something, and an Ushiwaka that is up to something is the kind that Iwaizumi and Oikawa hate the most. He isn't known for dishonesty, so his lie tells Iwaizumi that the truth is important enough to the man standing before them that he would have gone to any lengths to ensure that Iwaizumi and (more importantly) Oikawa had ended up here, in this rinky dink building in the middle of next to nowhere.

 

Ushiwaka, _straightforward_ Ushiwaka, is resorting to pulling strings from the shadows - and he's _succeeding at it_. The thought is enough to send a shiver down Hajime’s spine.

 

“What do you want, Ushiwaka?” he asks in a growl, hyper-aware of Oikawa.

 

“I wanted to talk to Oikawa Tooru.”

 

“Well,” Oikawa spits with venom in his voice, “here I am, so start talking.”

 

He nods. “I want you to join me.”

 

“You want me to _join_ you?”

 

“Alone,” Ushiwaka amends, his gaze sweeping over Iwaizumi, neutral yet burning every inch of skin that it reaches.

 

“Not an option,” Iwaizumi says, still speaking in the same gravelly tone. He’d like to deck the guy. “Next.”

 

Ushiwaka stares at him now, and it’s like he's just seeing him for the first time. His eyes drift between them to linger on the hand Iwaizumi has on Oikawa, and something in his expression shifts.

 

“Ah. You have no intention of joining my cause, it seems.” He's just as blunt as he ever was, and makes a move to leave; but the arrogant self-assuredness is too much for Oikawa to handle. Iwaizumi feels it the moment Oikawa snaps, the feeling of his own blood boiling in proximity with the surge of power directly to his right, the charge in the air as teal glyphs spark across the room, coating every surface in interlocking patterns. It always takes Iwaizumi’s breath away when he sees his boyfriend like this, one part rage and zero parts control; because it's beautiful, even if it's beautiful in a deadly sense.

 

But he can't ignore the way his blood is trying to burst out of his skin.

 

“Oikawa,” he spits through gritted teeth. The glyphs pulse brighter. Ushiwaka glances down at his arm, which is patterned with maroon markings, curling up his skin like a full-sleeve tattoo. He regards it with open interest, like it belongs to someone else, and everything about the situation puts Hajime’s teeth on edge. His nails dig into the skin of his boyfriend's wrist where he is still clutching it, and the Arcane surrounding them shatters into infinitesimal pieces, settling on the ground like a fine layer of dust.

 

Oikawa is breathing hard, now, and Iwaizumi doesn't loosen his grip in the slightest. The runes coloring Ushiwaka’s arm fade, and he offers them a calculating glance over his shoulder.

 

“Oikawa Tooru, you should have picked a different side.”

 

It's almost enough to set Oikawa off again, so he squeezes just a bit tighter as their rival-of-sorts walks back out the door that he came in through.

 

“I'm fine, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa snaps, forcing him to let go with a flick of his wrist.

 

“Oh, fine? Is that why you were going to take the building down with the three of us still inside it? Stupid. You aren't fine.”

 

“I'm _fine_!”

 

“No you're not, neither of us are. We've apparently got the most insufferable, dangerous man in all of Japan on our asses, and then you had to go and basically threaten to kill him!”

 

“I didn't _kill_ him, Iwa-chan, all I did was prove that I _could_.” Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest and huffs.

 

“And kill the two of us in the process? What a brilliant plan. Hey, when you've got an idea that _isn't_ an idiotic suicide mission, Shittykawa, get back to me, will you?”

 

“But he's so _annoying_ , Iwa-chan! He thinks he's god's gift to Arcane or something!” He pushes his hair down and puts on his best Ushiwaka face – which really only makes him look stupid and constipated.

 

“Like you've got room to talk,” Iwaizumi grumbles. But at least Oikawa’s reverted back to petulant whining. It means they're out of the danger zone, for now.

 

“You know what I mean!”

 

“Yeah, I do, and next time, I'll let you crush him like a bug. Hell, I'll _help_ you crush him like a bug. You know I hate him just as much as you do, jerkoff, he's a smug son of a bitch. But right now I think we need to figure out why exactly he called us out like this. It gives me the fucking chills.”

 

“Us? He only wanted to talk to me, Iwa-chan. Jealousy doesn't look good on you~.”

 

Iwaizumi takes as swipe at Oikawa’s stupid head, and smirks when he lets out a yelp of surprise.

 

“Rude! Iwa-chan is jealous and rude!”

 

“I'm not jealous, you ass! You really bragging about being thirsted after by Ushiwaka?”

 

Oikawa balks. “He's not thirsting after me! Stupid!”

 

“You are a fucking child.”

 

“My boyfriend is mean!” But he catches Iwaizumi’s hand with his own anyways as they walk down the road, away from the building they met their least favorite person in. “Hey. Wanna go visit Maki-chan and Mattsun while we're out? I need a pick-me-up.”

 

“Sure. Whatever.”

 

His hand tightens protectively around Oikawa’s as he finds himself wondering just exactly what Ushiwaka is up to. What did he want Oikawa for? Iwaizumi hopes this is the last they'll be seeing of that asshole, but his gut tells him it's just wishful thinking.

 

“Iwa-chan, you're going to break my fingers. Stop worrying so much.”

 

“I'm not worrying.” He does loosen his grip a little, though.

 

“You are too worrying, and you're going to give yourself wrinkles over it. I am not going to date you if you're wrinkly, and I really will kill Ushiwaka if he's the reason why.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Oikawa, I'm not getting wrinkly. You're so goddamn annoying.”

 

“You love me,” Oikawa says with a lazy grin directed his way. Hajime grunts, completely unwilling to admit it. But Oikawa knows he does anyways, and he beams over at his boyfriend. “Cranky Iwa-chan, secretly afraid of growing old and grey by thirty, knowing he will be heartbroken without me- ow!”

 

Iwaizumi has punched him on the shoulder with his free hand.

 

They walk for a good twenty minutes, Iwaizumi fielding more of Oikawa’s teasing until it fizzles out into a companionable silence.

 

“Thanks for stopping me, Iwa-chan.”

 

“What, are you stupid? You don't need to thank me, of course I was gonna stop you. When you beat Ushiwaka, no, fuck. When _we_ beat Ushiwaka, we're going to do it facing him, looking him in the eye as he finally learns what defeat feels like.”

 

Oikawa gives him a grin that nearly knocks him off his feet it’s so goddamn cute, and within seconds his arms are wrapped around Hajime’s broad shoulders and their lips meet in a kiss that leaves him dazed and wanting more.

 

“…I should talk shit on Ushiwaka more often if that’s how you’re going to react,” he says, breathless. Oikawa gives him another kiss on the cheek and drags him forward with a laugh.

  


= = =

 

 

 

With Bravo Squad out of action due to Kenma’s hospitalization, Alpha, Charlie, and Delta are called upon to step up in their absence. Shaken by the crippling of an experienced team, Ukkai and Takeda ask Alpha to split to reinforce Charlie and Delta. It serves as a dual-purpose assignment. Not only will they take part in the missions, but they have also been asked to take the teams under their wings and help them grow.

 

This is what brings Sugawara and Tanaka out to the loading bay, waiting for Delta to arrive before leaving on their latest assignment. Suga feels faintly nervous, yet he can't deny an edge of anticipation to his mood, as well. He’s already very familiar with the other main squads on base, but Delta is still relatively new and untapped potential, fresh blood in their veins. As many more intense missions often call for complete cooperation between two or more teams, it’s important for everyone to be at their best. It’s just as important that they know how to work together – cohesive and fluid, interlocking without flaws like the gears of a clock. He already knows, from Ukai’s briefing, that Delta is far from this level of cooperation.

 

So Suga is nervous, yes; but he is also really looking forward to the challenge. He'll miss Daichi, Noya, and Asahi, but they’ll be fine. Kunimi is a skilled operator, he reminds himself; his team is in good hands without him.

 

Loud voices signal the arrival of Delta squad. Kageyama and Tsukishima are shouting at each other again; or rather, Kageyama is shouting while Tsukishima is responding at a volume that still falls within the “inside-voices” range, but Suga thinks it still _feels_ like he's shouting, what with the absolute chill that's crept into his tone. Tanaka and Suga share a look, before Tanaka walks forward and pulls Kageyama into a headlock.

 

“Quiet down, will ya! You tryna wake up the whole base, damnit?” Kageyama looks properly scolded, but still somewhat irritable. Suga lets the two squabble for a minute, mostly so that Kageyama can let out an ounce his frustration by roughing around with Tanaka, and then he claps his hands together, catching their attention. His face lights up in a bright grin. Hinata bounces forward, and Yamaguchi smiles from his place beside Tsukishima.

 

“Hop in!” he says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the helicopter behind him. Crew members scurry around, readying the aircraft. Hinata _uwaaaah_ s and high fives Tanaka, who is already grinning in excitement, bragging about the number of times he's ridden in one. A blonde girl stops Suga while he's walking, pressing a bag into his hands.

 

“H-Here’s everything, I think, I mean, I hope it's all there, I checked at least four times, but you can look again if you-” she stammers, stuttering to a stop when Suga sets a warm hand on her shoulder.

 

“Thank you Yachi-san, I'm sure it's perfect!” He grins at her. Delta squad has an interesting handler; she seems timid, but eager to do well. Suga reminds himself to make sure that his kouhai get to know her better. He turns to leave, but a squeak from her makes him pause.

 

“Is, is Shimizu-senpai not here today, or, I mean, is she?” Her warm brown eyes sparkle up at him, and he thinks about all the potential they seem to hold. Yachi Hitoka reminds him of summer, in a way.

 

“Sorry, she’s working with Daichi and Charlie squad for the time being. I'll tell her you said hi, though!”

 

Yachi starts sputtering, disappointed but blushing, and Suga thinks he knows admiration when he sees it. He doesn't give her a chance to refuse, grinning a little mischievously at himself while he climbs aboard the chopper. Its blades start spinning and the roof of the base parts directly above them, the floor underneath the helicopter slowly rising to become level with the top of the building before it will take off. Suga pulls his headset over his ears and adjusts the mic, buckling himself into the bucket seat while the helicopter starts to lift into the air.

 

“Okay! Can everyone hear me?” Five thumbs up answer him. “Great! Today we're going to look into a Ghoul infestation. They seem to be holing up in a small office building near a cleared part of town. We don't want anything bad to happen to the civilians nearby, so it's our job to get to the bottom of it! Tsukishima, you'll be running long range defense and perimeter control. Don't let any of them get away, or we'll have a bigger problem on our hands! Hinata and Kageyama, you're going to run distraction, while Tanaka helps a little, but Tanaka, I want you more focused on guarding Yamaguchi and I. The two of us are going to find the source spell and break it. Don't hesitate to ask for help, of course. I know you learned all of this in your academies, but in my experience it bears repeating. Ghouls are toxic, so don't let them touch you. If they do, let me know, I'll take care of it as soon as I can. You also have be wary of any sort of appendage they form – they can solidify up to 20% of their body mass at a given moment; that’s how they move around. Stay on your toes and watch each other’s backs. Everyone clear on what to do?”

 

Hinata nods in synch with Kageyama, wrinkling his nose up when he realizes what he's doing. Tsukishima just looks away, looking bored as usual, and Yamaguchi smiles thinly from his seat, clearly nervous. Tanaka grins and salutes, and something about the gesture is teasing. Suga raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“You sounded like Daichi-san, there, Suga-san.” Tanaka smirks, and Suga whips out a hand to give him a smack on the back of the head, fighting the blush that's threatening to drown his skin in pink. The compliment means more than he wants Tanaka to know, and he makes a haughty face to disguise it.

 

“It's not nice to tease me, Tanaka. I wonder what Daichi would say if he heard that you were being mean to me on our very first mission without him around?” He smirks at Tanaka, who straightens up immediately, his shit-eating grin replaced with an exaggerated straight face that makes him look like he's just seen a ghost.

 

The helicopter drops them fifteen blocks away from the reported target on top of a hospital in the town they’re protecting. There’s one orderly waiting to receive them, and she directs them towards the exit. Yamaguchi pulls out the data pad as they begin walking away from the entrance of the building.

 

“So, it doesn’t look like there are a ton of tall buildings in the area, which is good for your field of view, Tsukki. But, that means your vantage points are sort of limited…”

 

“Can I take a look?” Suga asks in a kind tone, holding a hand out for the tablet. Hinata walks ahead with Tanaka, loudly recounting stories from their academy days. Tsukishima walks behind Suga and Yamaguchi, using his height to look at the projected map along with them. Kageyama is trailing after Tanaka and Hinata, .

 

Tsukishima reaches and points at a building projected in front of them. “That one is the best for covering the area. It’s tall enough that I can see over it well enough to keep an eye on the streets on the other side of the building. And there are windows facing me directly, so my line of sight is maximized.”

 

Suga is pleased. “You have a good eye, Tsukishima. You too, Yamaguchi, what you said before is completely right.” Yamaguchi flushes and Tsukishima doesn’t look annoyed, which Suga roughly translates to simple tolerance. “Hey, you three, listen for a minute,” he calls to the boys ahead of him. They stop and huddle around, which makes Suga feel incredibly pressured – they’re depending on him to make the right call.

 

“I think the best place to enter is through the single door to the west, and then through the windows on your side, Tsukishima. That way we’ll split them up and minimize our chances of getting overwhelmed. Kageyama and Hinata will each take a window, and Tanaka will take the door, since he’s the most experienced one here. Yamaguchi and I will follow through behind Tanaka after he gives us the okay, and we’ll get to work on locating and breaking the spell. Hinata, Kageyama, I want you two to focus on drawing them away; Tanaka, you’ll have to keep an eye on pretty much everyone and go where you’re needed most. Tsukishima, I’m counting on you to help him out with that. If you see someone who needs support, speak up.”

 

Yamaguchi nods, and Tsukishima leans back, adjusting the strap of his rifle. Tanaka grins at him before drawing Hinata and Kageyama into a harrowing tale about a particularly difficult mission. Suga’s too lost in his own thoughts to yell at him for all the exaggeration.

 

He’s heard things about Tsukishima; he doesn’t play well with others, and he doesn’t prioritize the survival of enemies – which is frowned upon by the military. His reputation preceded him at the base, just like Kageyama’s had; although Kageyama was known for other things: being a prodigy, but also a distrustful perfectionist. Hinata and Yamaguchi hadn’t made such big splashes when the newest squad roster was shared with the base. He’s gotten to know them a little, Hinata through his regular visits to the med bay, and Yamaguchi through observing Delta’s missions in the base’s control room, but all together the four young fighters are… unpolished.

 

When they get to the building infested with the Ghouls, everything goes off with a hitch. Adrenaline blurs the moments together: glass shattering as Hinata and Kageyama entered through the windows, Tanaka yelling while he twirled his staff through the air, cutting through anything and everything that got in his way. Tanaka gives them the okay and he and Yamaguchi slip through the door. His eyes tracing the stream of Ghouls to their source, Yamaguchi’s whimper when they realize that the Summoning Arcane is complex and _strong_ , stronger than they had expected. Orange hair standing back to back with hair the color of coal, shouting, an even voice over the comms saying “They’re getting overwhelmed, I can’t see them from here.” Grey, oozing blobs swarming his kouhai, making sounds like the creak of a door.

 

All of this seems to happen in the blink of an eye.

 

But then time shifts and his perception with it; Suga sees everything happening in slow motion. It’s almost as if the whole world stalls, each second drawing itself out just so that he’ll see every tiny detail, imprinted on his mind forever. Suga always knew he’d see horrible things; he has never been so naïve as to think that he’d be lucky enough to avoid it.

 

But he feels like his nerves are on fire when the arm of the ghoul slices through Hinata and Kageyama before him, halving two wholes in a single stroke.

 

Blood is everywhere. It is on his face, splattered against his clothes, burning every cell it touches. Hinata is screaming, the sound cutting through his eardrums, peeling the flesh from Suga’s bones. Two broken bodies hit the ground with dull thuds. Kageyama’s pale hands scrabble at the dusty floor, a voiceless gurgle in his throat.

 

Tanaka is shouting something, slashing through the ghouls with unparalleled intensity, desperate to reach them, desperate for things that will not come to pass.

 

And Suga takes steps forward, because he has to _do_ something, he has to save them, his kouhai, Hinata and Kageyama.

 

 _There’s no point,_ a tiny voice in his head says. _They’re as good as dead._

 

But still, his feet move, until a pair of arms wrap around his middle from behind. Yamaguchi holds him back, anchoring him in place.

 

“Let me go!” Suga shouts. “Let me _go_ , Yamaguchi, I have to do something! They’re in pain! They’re dying!” His heart aches with the words.

 

“No, they aren’t!” Yamaguchi shouts back, his arms tightening against Suga’s struggle against them. “They aren’t going to die, stop, _stop_! Trust me!”

 

Suga sees Kageyama’s hands still. Hinata isn’t screaming anymore. He failed them. He _failed_ them.

 

“Suga-san, focus!” Tanaka yells in a hoarse voice, his staff spinning through the air, cutting purple arcs through Ghouls left and right. He moves with ferocity, every swing of his weapon intending to cut down. “You can’t do anything for them until you get rid of these fucking things! First the spell, then the newbies!”

 

Suga grits his teeth, turning his face away from the pair on the ground, though the image stays with him when he closes his eyes. Yamaguchi lets him go, his own pair of brown eyes wide, and Suga realizes that he is afraid. And he remembers where he is, and what he’s doing here, and for some reason his thoughts go to _what would Daichi do_ and he knows, then. He knows what he has to do. Tanaka is right.

 

He can hear shots cutting through the air and reminds himself that he is not alone. Tsukishima is still guarding their backs, shooting down anything he can see through the windows of the building. Occasionally green diamonds stop in the air inches from Suga’s back, catching the splatter from the Ghouls that are being destroyed by Tanaka.

 

“There!” He points at a glyph written on the wall ahead of them. Ghouls are pouring out of it, their thick, grey goop spilling to the ground and reforming into the monsters, simple-shaped masses with white eyes, rolling towards them on liquid feet. Suga throws off his coat, pulling a scarlet marker out of his belt and drawing the tip along his right arm, forming a spiderweb-like pattern all the way down to his fingertips. The line of enemies is approaching, their blobby forms occasionally coalescing into larger, four-eyed Ghouls now that Hinata and Kageyama aren’t here to help thin them out.

 

“Yamaguchi, I need you to break it. I’ll watch your back.” He tucks the marker back into his belt. It strikes Suga, in that moment, how grateful he is that the brunette is beside him. If Yamaguchi wasn’t here, they would’ve had to retreat. They would’ve had to leave Kageyama and Hinata ( _their bodies_ , he makes himself think) behind.

 

So Suga bites the inside of his cheek and reaches his arm out into the air, pulling a throwing knife from nothing with the help of the spell. It’s made of pure magic, glowing red in the dusty air. With a flick of the wrist, one knife becomes five, and he begins throwing them into the sickly grey goop of the monsters before them, burning them to ashes from the inside out. He covers Yamaguchi while Tanaka covers him, with Tsukishima covering them all. Yamaguchi darts forward, slipping through the path that Suga is creating for him, while Suga slowly moves forward after him, intent on staying as close to the rookie as he can.

 

Yamaguchi stands about five feet away from the sigil on the wall, hands outstretched with palms facing forwards. The sludge continues to spill forward, and he winces when some of it surges past his leg. Suga pins the mass through with a knife while it hasn’t yet gathered itself into a unified form, burning the Ghoul away before it can swallow Yamaguchi up. The boy’s hands continue to glow a burning orange as he chants the countercurse.

 

“Keep it up, Yamaguchi!” Suga yells over the sound of Tanaka roaring insults at a giant Ghoul behind them. He feels separate from his own voice, like it’s pretending that no one has died, while his mind is numb with the truth.

 

He feels, rather than hears, a bullet whiz past his head, and turns in time to see another Ghoul crumble to dust in his blindspot.

 

“Nice shot, Tsukishima!”

 

“Hai,” comes a monotone reply from the blonde sniper. More of his shots zip through the air, and Suga can only assume that he’s either helping out Tanaka or else taking down Ghouls that get past them outside – he’s sure there are plenty of those.

 

He hears a snap and a hiss from Yamaguchi’s direction.

 

“Senpai, I got it!” Yamaguchi’s hands are still glowing as the glyph on the wall begins lifting into the air, drawn towards the light of his palms.

 

Suga throws another knife into a Ghoul and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Good job!”

 

Most of the Ghouls begin to disintigrate with the destruction of the Arcane that summoned them, and Tanaka twirls through the rest of them with admirable form. The goop that had been pouring out of the wall has stopped flowing, and everything that is on the ground up to this point is also breaking apart and floating into the sky in the form of tiny black motes. It’s over, just like that.

 

Suga seems to sway where he stands. He knows he must look, he knows that he has to face them, even if the sight will likely haunt him for the rest of his foreseeable future. But none of this logic prepares him for the sight that he finds when he finally makes himself look – he was supposed to _protect_ them.

 

His lip wobbles and Tanaka catches him in his arms when he slumps forward, biting back wails that are trying to beat their way out of his shaking ribcage. He can’t see his face, but the growing wet spot on his shoulder tells him that Tanaka is crying, too.

 

“Suga-senpai, Tanaka-senpai, please, just. It’s going to be okay,” Yamaguchi tries to say, even though his hands shake.

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” says a quiet voice in their ears.

 

“But, Tsukki, you don’t understand, really, it’s…” He trails off into silence. Suga reminds himself that his job isn’t over yet. He’s got to pull it together, get the rest of them home in one piece. He pats Tanaka’s back and lifts his head, pushing the hysteria down for later, when he is alone.

 

But then the room begins to glow.

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

 

They were dead.

 

Right?

 

 _Are we dead?_ Hinata thinks, and then he thinks about how stupid it is that he expects anyone to answer him.

 

**_You’re not stupid. Well, you are, but not this time. I can hear you._ **

_Kageyama? Is that you?_ Hinata thinks the afterlife must be pretty fucked up. There’s no way he deserves to be in hell, but he’s that’s the only place he could possibly be if he has to spend his afterlife with Kageyama.

 

 ** _Shut up, dumbass, I told you I can hear you!_** Kageyama doesn’t understand any of this either. Are these his final thoughts? Is this really the last thing his brain is going to come up with? Somehow he isn’t exactly disappointed.

 

 _Are we dead?_ Hinata asks again.

 

Kageyama sighs. And then remembers that, considering the state of his body, he shouldn’t be able to do that.

 

 ** _I’m not so sure, now_** _,_ he thinks.

 

“Then what’s going on?” This time, Hinata’s words are out loud, and Kageyama jumps. The darkness that had consumed everything up until this point is suddenly thrown into light, and he shields his eyes.

 

As if the mist of death has settled, he’s in a world once again.

 

“Where are we?” he asks, looking around. He’s standing in the middle of a forest clearing. The sky is clear, with the sun shining down on him from above, green grass blanketing the ground beneath his shoeless feet. And Hinata is standing in front of him, whole and in one piece, and Kageyama’s head jerks down to his own torso to see that he is whole once again, as well.

 

“You finally died,” croaks a voice in his ear.

 

“Finally!” calls an echo.

 

His gaze meets Hinata’s, but then they are both cast into shadow. They look up to see two black birds circling the suddenly stormy sky above them, gradually lowering, getting closer…

 

“What are you looking at?” says the first voice, and Kageyama jumps at pressure on his shoulder. The birds aren’t in the sky anymore. One of them sits on his shoulder, and he stares at its dark eyes and black wings.

 

“Looking at!” replies the echo, its words mocking, laughing. Hinata starts as the other crow flaps its wings from its perch on his shoulder, buffering the side of his head.

 

“Hey!” Hinata yells, trying to jump away from the bird, which just hangs on for the ride. “Get off! Get off!” He swats at it, only to find himself batting at empty air next to his head. The bird caws from his other shoulder, where it has reappeared. “AH!” Within minutes Hinata is flinging his arms in the air while a crow squawks at him while it flaps around his face.

 

Kageyama groans. “There is literally no worse place to end up after death.”

 

“You aren’t dead!”

 

“Aren’t!”

 

That gets Hinata’s attention. “We aren’t?” The crow lands on his head, and he just groans, accepting his fate.

 

“No. We’re Familiars.”

 

Kageyama’s mouth drops open.

 

“Really?!” Hinata lights up with excitement. “You really are?!”

 

The bird on his head caws. The one on Kageyama’s shoulder flutters his wings. “Yes.”

 

“So that’s why we aren’t dead?” Kageyama asks.

 

“That’s why you aren’t dead. Well, as long as you make a contract with us. If you don’t, bummer!”

 

The other bird laughs with more _caws_. There’s a low rumbling coming from off in the distance, foreboding but still quiet enough to ignore, and the sky seems to have darkened several shades more.

 

“What do you want?” Kageyama asks. Familiars might contract with Hosts and give them powers, but they almost always ask for something in return.

 

“Want! Want!” quorks the other bird.

 

“Not much. Just feed us.”

 

“Feed you?” asks Hinata, confused.

 

“When you fight! Feed us by striking down opponents. It’s simple.”

 

“Simple!”

 

“Or you could just die.” A light breeze tosses the leaves around the clearing, lifting the hair from his face.

 

Kageyama looks to Hinata. He knows, in his soul, that Hinata’s going to do this. How could he _not_ leap at the opportunity? But he himself has so many questions he doesn’t even know where to begin. He knows that Familiars can be dangerous to their owners, and he knows nothing about these two birds. Usually Familiars tend to court the people they want to contract with; whereas he’s never seen these two before. Which raises a glaring red flag in his mind.

 

“Why are we both here?” he asks. “Why are there two of you, and two of us? That’s not how this works.” It’s supposed to be the Familiar and their Host, he remembers, their contract binding them together, and it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever that there should be two Familiars, two Hosts. Kageyama and Hinata should not be interacting right now, no matter the case. And yet, they are.

 

“Oho! We’re not like other Familiars. You see, we’re a pair!”

 

“A pair!” calls Hinata’s crow.

 

“A what?”

 

“Two Familiars. What can we say? We’re particular. You know where Familiars come from, don’t you? No, you don’t. That much is clear by the looks on your faces! Ha! We’ll have plenty of time to discuss it later, but enough about the specifics for now. Look around you, do you think you have all the time in the world to make your choice? You don’t, and you’re wasting time with all these questions! Do we have a deal?”

 

Hinata gazes at him, golden eyes bright and dancing. The world around them shakes, and Kageyama knows instinctively that it’s going to crumble.

 

“We’re doing this, right, Kageyama?” he asks.

 

“Idiot,” Kageyama snaps. “Of course we are.”

 

“Excellent!” quorks the bird on his shoulder. “We have three questions for you then.”

 

“Three!”

 

“Will you give your lives to us?”

 

Hinata’s eyes meet his again, holding it. What they say now will make or break the contract, will kill or save them. So they could say yes, and build their future on a lie, or they could say no, and risk being rejected by the two capricious birds for their selfish choice. Failing to answer correctly means death.

 

“No,” they say together.

 

“We can see that you want power. Will you do whatever it takes to get it?”

 

“Yes,” they answer. The bird on Hinata’s head _caw_ s, making him jump.

 

“Will you guard each other’s backs as if they were your own?”

 

Kageyama wants to say no. Every part of his training tells him to, every cell in his body that remembers his past screams a refusal. Because nothing good has ever come to him through depending on others. But he looks at the determination and challenge in Hinata’s eyes, reads the acceptance in spite of the fact that they have never gotten along before in the set of his jaw, and he remembers. He remembers Hinata’s hand on his chest and the way that it burned, how it affected him, and he decides to take one last chance on another person.

 

“Yes,” he says, and Hinata echoes him.

 

The sound of wings fill their ears while the world around them darkens, and they’re flying, up, up, and then gravity slams back into them with the force of a train.

 

And when they open their eyes to whole bodies and the faint smell of burning, they aren’t alone in their heads anymore.

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

 

In the end, Hinata and Kageyama are so out of it that Suga has to use a spell to knock them out. Tsukishima rolls his eyes at the pair sitting across from him on the helicopter ride back.

 

Yamaguchi wraps his arms around his middle and tells himself that it’s going to be fine. Even though Hachiko is sitting at his feet, staring over at the two crows that are very obviously staring back from their perches on the boys’ shoulders.

 

Tsukishima gives him a meaningful look and Yamaguchi does his best to smile back at him like nothing is wrong. He has a feeling that the blonde has something to say to him, but whatever it is, he isn’t going to bring it up around everyone else.

 

The flight back holds nothing of the collected cheer that brought them here. Suga smiles at Yamaguchi when he makes eye contact, but it’s clear that their interim captain’s mind is somewhere else entirely. He isn’t surprised, considering what a fiasco that mission turned out to be. Not that anyone could have anticipated what happened, the intel was faulty. His nails dig into the palms as he falls back into the moment, the sound of being surrounded by Ghouls, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and the icy fear that seemed to squeeze the breath out of him when Kageyama and Hinata were cut down before his eyes.

 

A nudge on his shoulder snaps him out of it, and he looks up to see Tsukishima watching him out of the corner of his eye. Yamaguchi gives him a wobbly smile and swallows, turning to stare down at the hands in his lap.

 

After getting back to the base, their team splits up – Suga and Tanaka are dragged off by Ukai, and Kageyama and Hinata get nabbed by Takeda. Tsukishima shrugs and heads off down the hallway that Yamaguchi knows will take them to their quarters. He sighs and follows, ignoring the wide eyes of everyone they pass in the hallway. This time there are no whispers, and he has the steely gaze of Tsukishima to thank for that. He occupies himself by wondering if he can convince the other boy to let him shower first – he’s still speckled with dried blood.

 

When they reach their squad’s quarters, Tsukishima types the passcode into the little panel next to the door and waits for Yamaguchi to enter first.

 

Yamaguchi wastes no time in heading to the door on the right, which leads to their small shared bedroom.  
  
“Yamaguchi,” he hears, and it stops him in his tracks, even though he was expecting it.

 

“Yeah?” He turns back to glance at the tall blonde boy, the one who’s leaning so casually against the doorframe, pale arms crossed over a lean chest.

 

“How did you know they’d be okay?”

 

Yamaguchi swallows. Lying is never his preferred option when it comes to his best friend. But the truth means telling him about Hachiko, and the reasons why he has a Familiar, why he has _this_ Familiar, and those are questions he will never be ready to answer. So he decides on a half-truth.

 

“I didn’t know. I just… hoped? I was probably in shock. It all happened so fast I just. You know.” He shrugs, wearing an uneven expression. “I wanted them to make it, so I just. Had a feeling, I guess. I decided that they would. Which was pretty stupid.” He laughs softly. “It was just a coincidence, Tsukki.”

 

Tsukishima watches him shuffle in place for a moment longer, and then pushes off the door to walk towards Yamaguchi. He can feel himself still as the other boy approaches – he can’t tell by the look on Tsukishima’s face whether or not the other has seen through his lie. And he feels so, so low and guilty for telling it in the first place. He wants to tell Tsukki everything. His best friend, who he trusts with everything he has… But he can’t. He can’t do that to him, he chose to bear this burden and protect the most important person to him, and it’s his own fault if it costs him.

 

“You tried to explain something to me. You told me I didn’t understand.”

 

He tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Really? I said that? You’re worrying too much, Tsukki, it happened so fast and I can’t remember half the things I said… I just. I didn’t want it to be real. You know?” It’s all a lie.

 

The response that comes isn’t at all what he feared it would be.  
  
“Yeah, I know. I didn’t either.” The moment passes. “Go take a shower, Yamaguchi, you’re covered in blood.”

 

So he smiles, and heads to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and locking himself away. He doesn’t want to keep doing this, but he will. Tadashi looks at his freckled reflection in the mirror and wonders when everything inside and around him started to feel so _broken_. Warm water eases some of the tension from his muscles, and he watches pink rivulets wash down the drain.

 

He thinks he knows.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breath* did i just do that??? yeah... i did.
> 
> 1\. i want to say rn, IM TOO WEAK TO DO PERMANENT MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH so like. please don't worry about that with this fic. and yeah, it has a happy ending. (these are always the questions i ask when i read other fics).
> 
> 2\. do you have a million more questions?! what the heck is going on??? msg me @sugawarakoushl.tumblr.com , my writing sideblog. you can comment here too of course (i will cry and love you wtf) but i forget to reply to comments a lot so if you NEED an answer and NEED IT NOW!!! go to my blog.
> 
> 3\. i worry about getting characterization right, i want things to be In Character and make sense?? so if anything sticks out to you as "wtf this is not what ___ would do" i would really, really like to know.
> 
> 4\. thank you for reading. you're so great i love you <3


	3. the tall wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People are not rain or snow or autumn leaves. They do not look beautiful when they fall." -unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! you might have noticed the tags changed a bit - i took out relationship tags that don't have POV - or that don't have one yet. i'll add them back if that changes, but for now these are the POV pairings, plus sidepairings. i might write some companion fic for other characters / pairings, but who knows.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: violence/blood, the briefest hint of smut... let me know if i missed anything
> 
> i feel a bit nervous about this chapter - i wrote a lot of it while i was stressed and dissociating. i really hope it turned out okay, but that's why it has taken so long to get out. i'll probably make a few retroactive grammar fixes, since my friend is looking over this for me <3 but i didn't want to make anyone wait longer for an update. please enjoy!!

Hinata parries a blow and shoves the weight of his opponent’s sword back, pressing forward, forcing them into a defensive position. He sweeps one foot forward, hooking it behind their ankle, and tugs at the same time he pushes forward with his sword. His opponent falls, and he presses the blade against their throat. The simulation programming recognizes the defeat and the figure melts away.

 

It’s replaced by a Ghoul, standing twenty feet to his left, between the buildings generated by the program. He raises his sword to block, cutting a glob of noxious tar out of the air. It explodes on contact with his sword, sending him flying back a good ten feet, skidding across the pavement as he goes. The simulation may not be real, but the pain is. He’ll have no cuts or injuries from his fights here, but while he is within the simulation, everything he experiences translates as reality to his senses.

 

As the simulated Ghoul rushes towards him, Hinata feels his blood chill. It’s just like his dreams, the ones that have been haunting him since he died–his arms and legs turn to lead and the Ghoul approaches, he has to block he needs to block it’s going to _kill_ him it’s going to kill _them_ \--

 

The simulation stutters to a halt before him and Hinata’s sword flickers out. He turns to the doorway in confusion, wondering what stopped the simulation, and sees Kageyama standing in the entry.

 

“Stop being scared, stupid.”

 

“I had it under control!” Hinata snaps, and they both flinch as they feel the wavelengths of their souls snap against each other uncomfortably.

 

“Sorry,” Kageyama mumbles, closing the door behind him.

 

“Don’t back down so easily, Bakageyama.” Hinata smirks over at him, and Kageyama returns the look.

 

Lately they’ve been better; they fight less, at least, because every time they do it leaves them frazzled and in pain. Their Familiars really weren’t like others–as Takeda had explained to them after the mission that had changed their entire worlds.

 

_“We know they’ve been after you two for a while, but there was no reason to tell you. It wasn’t our place to initiate the Contracts.” Takeda slides two files across the table towards Hinata and Kageyama._

 

_“You knew?” Kageyama snaps, flipping the manila folder open. “How long have you known?”_

 

 _Takada clears his throat uncomfortably. “A while. We only knew for sure since the two of you have been at this base, but it’s entirely possible that they’ve been with you since their creation. Familiars are… fickle things, Kageyama-kun, Hinata-kun. The academy doesn’t teach this, because if the information went public, well, the repercussions would be pretty serious. But a while back, towards the beginning of this war, there was a researcher who sought to bend the rules of Light and Dark. Summoning named Demons, altering their forms, blending them with Mana-based Spirits… That’s how Familiars were created. They were_ made _, created as weapons to give the military an edge against Arcane. Of course, the researcher who created them died at their hand. They offer us an edge, yes… But they are a double-edged sword, usually.” He smiles, the expression tinged with sadness._

 

_“So what does that mean for us?” Hinata asks, looking like he’s just won the lottery even though his uniform is halved and stained with his own blood._

 

_“We’ve never seen a pair before, but from what we can tell, what Ukai has looked into with the help of his own Familiar-“_

 

_“He has one?!”_

 

_“Yes. I’m sure you’ll see it at some point. But anyways,” he hastens to continue, seeing the impatient look on Kageyama’s face, “your Familiars are linked, through your souls. I can’t know all of it – much about them you will have to find out for yourselves – but there’s a profound bond between them, and therefore, the two of you, as their Hosts. I’d like to ask you about them, if you don’t mind. We try to keep detailed records, since Familiars can move on to different Hosts in the case that the original Contract is broken.”_

 

_“Like with Yamaguchi’s Familiar?” Kageyama asks. Hinata glances at him, perplexed._

 

_Takeda gives them another sad smile. “Yes. Like that.”_

 

_“Yamaguchi has a Familiar?! That’s so cool! Uwaah, why didn’t he tell us?” Hinata’s eyes are bright, and suddenly the pair flinches in unison as their emotions clash._

 

_“Because it’s personal, stupid!”_

 

_“But we’re teammates!”_

 

_Takeda clears his throat, interrupting the two. “Let’s stay on track, if you two don’t mind. Yamaguchi has his own reasons for keeping that information to himself, and I suggest that you respect his privacy. People have been killed for their Familiars before, and the two of you should bear that in mind in the future. Like I have said before: a double-edged sword. You don’t want that information in the wrong hands.”_

 

_Hinata and Kageyama nod, paying rapt attention to their superior officer._

 

_“Now, can you tell me the proper names of your Familiars?”_

 

_Hinata looks put out. “Kanabou.”_

 

_“Oni,” Kageyama finishes._

 

_Takeda’s dark eyebrows rise slightly as he jots down the information. “And their appearances?”_

 

_“They’re crows.”_

 

_“Interesting. Their names are just like the legend. Have they told you what powers they’ve given you?”_

 

_Hinata and Kageyama look at each other. “Not yet,” they say, seriousness coloring their tones. “But they want to.”_

 

“Do you want to practice?” Kageyama asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

 

Hinata knows that Oni urged Kageyama to come here just to ask, the same way Kanabou has been nagging at him from the back of his mind. It doesn’t stop him from scrunching up his face and whining. “Do we have to?”

 

“You know we should.”

 

“Fine. Okay.”

 

Kageyama walks towards him, fishing his right hand out of his pocket and extending it towards Hinata. He takes it, warm skin burning warm skin, and close their eyes. This is the hardest part, Hinata thinks, finding a heartbeat that suits them both. His soul tends to follow a fast pace, racing through everything, while Kageyama’s prefers a steady, even, and solid rhythm.

 

Hinata does his best to control the wavelength of his soul – at least to a point where it is steady. Kageyama, always the better one at minutia such as this, speeds his own pace up to match Hinata’s.

 

When their rhythm finally matches, Hinata can feel himself begin to heat up. The excitement of it all thrums through him, a sun-like glow surrounding his being. His excitement peaks when the light is near blinding, and then–

 

“Hinata, you idiot!” Kageyama snaps as Hinata flops to the ground in a heap. “Control yourself better!”

 

Hinata _knows_ that it’s his fault they fell out of sync, and he _doesn’t_ need Kageyama to remind him. “I’m trying, you ass! You’d do the same thing if you were me! You don’t know what it feels like, even.”

 

“Yeah, that’s because I’m the one who can actually maintain control like this, dumbass.”

 

Hinata fires up at once, leaping back to his feet. “How would you feel if you were the one in my shoes? Stupid, try to show some empathy! I can't do this on my own and I _know_ that, you don't need to rub it in!”

 

Kageyama glares, but swallows back his retort. “Again,” he says, his tone just as angry as before, even though it’s quieter.

 

“Fine.”

 

“And try to… I don’t know, close your eyes and just follow my lead, or something. It can’t be that hard.”

 

Hinata thinks this sounds stupid, that everything Kageyama says is stupid, but he refrains from saying so. He inhales and exhales slowly, letting his eyes drop until his sight is guided by his mind’s eye only. A hand wraps around his own.

 

“Okay. Go for it,” he says.

 

Kageyama’s soulbeat pushes through him like the bass of a drum, vibrating every cell. It’s demanding, overwhelming, and Hinata feels wrong to submit to it. The static between them says as much; and he tries to force it away, force it down deep inside him, because _one_ of them has to. The rhythm washes over him, pushing and pulling him like a tide, remolding him into something burning and sharp, until he’s no longer certain where he ends and where Kageyama begins.

 

Kageyama stands, holding a sickle on a long chain, and they both let out a whoop of success – Hinata’s echoes in his mind, unheard by the rest of the world. He feels Kageyama’s warm hand on the grip of the sickle, on _him_ , and shivers with excitement.

 

It’s a tenuous bond at best, so far, but they manage to maintain the form together for longer than ever before, Kageyama twirling Hinata through the air in blade form, cutting down opponent after projected opponent.

 

To Kageyama, being able to tap into Hinata’s well of Mana is a rush of power at his fingertips. He’s hyper aware of every detail, the light glinting off of Hinata’s blade, the synchronization of their movements, their souls, their warmth…

 

“We could take on the whole world like this, Kageyama,” Hinata crows with a laugh from where he pants on the floor at his side when they’ve fallen out of sync fifteen short minutes later.

 

Kageyama huffs contrarily, but they can both sense the truth through their bond – he agrees.

 

 

= = =

 

 

Eleven days have passed when the things finally change. By Akaashi’s last count, three people have died – an old woman, and a couple. Someone had the sense to move them to a corner of the container, but that didn’t stop the smell, or the decay, and the drop in morale that came with death. Bokuto had been silent for two days, and Akaashi had long since run out of words for him. Every time he stood to stretch his legs, his vision swam until he had to lean back against the wall of the container, panting heavily. It had rained three times since their journey had begun, and each time some of the precipitation leaked in through the cracks in the walls – it was cold and disgusting, but they were so thirsty that they couldn’t be bothered by the lack of hygiene.

 

Akaashi had peeled off his shirt, ignoring the stench it carried, and pressed it against the water running down the wall until it soaked up plenty of moisture. Then he squeezed the liquid out of the material and into his mouth, nearly retching at the initial flavor. Sweat and dirt, his own. But he kept it down, because he knew he had to. There was no telling when they would see their next source of hydration. He made Bokuto do the same, continually, until their arms were once again too tired to lift.

 

That water was what had brought them to today – Akaashi once remembered reading that the human body can survive no longer than a week without water. Food was another problem, but he was already growing used to the constant ache in his gut that it hardly even made him nauseous anymore.

 

Bokuto seemed too tired to move, most of the time, and when he spoke his voice was raspy – all of their voices were, they were painfully dehydrated.

 

But on the eleventh day they can feel the truck move into reverse, hear the beep signaling the movement and then – the floor beneath them begins to pitch.

 

Sitting nearest to the cab of the truck against the metal wall there, they feel themselves rising, while the opposite end of the shipping container stays at the same height. The floor beneath them slopes, and Akaashi presses his feet against the floor, desperately trying to prevent himself from sliding down. Bokuto’s hand finds his in the darkness, and he doesn’t need to see the other’s face to know his fear. Whatever their destination had been, this was their arrival.

 

Suddenly the doors of the container open, blinding them with daylight, and they’re sliding down and out onto the straw-covered dirt below. Several people cry out when they hit the ground, and again when they are crushed by thin bodies above them. Akaashi hears Bokuto grunt and feels something hit him square in the chest – an elbow maybe, or a knee – and the breath leaves him all at once. He panics, rolling off the pile and struggling to suck in some air while his fingers claw at the dirt underneath him.

 

A face hovers over his vision, clouded by his watering eyes, but he knows it must be Bokuto because a hand finds his face (when did those fingers get so _thin_?) and a thumb runs across his cheek.

 

“Akaashi? Calm down, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

 

Finally he gets a breath in and shudders an exhale, unable to stop himself from holding that hand against his face. He can see the surprise in the widening of Bokuto’s golden, sunken eyes, but he allows himself not to care for the twenty seconds it takes for him to calm down fully.

 

Then the shouting begins.

 

“Get up! GET UP!” The voice is deep, and rough; an order sharper than knives. Akaashi sits up with fear curling in his stomach, dropping Bokuto’s hand and instead clutching his shirt. A tall, heavyset man with a brutal-looking riot baton stands before them, flanked by what Akaashi guesses must be his subordinates. Questions fill his mind, but he is too afraid to ask them.

 

Bokuto helps him to his feet, still allowing him to cling to his shirt.

 

“Where are we?” asks a woman.

 

“What do you want with us?” asks another.

 

“Let us go!” shouts one of the bolder gentlemen from his group, striding forward. A sharp crack and a strangled yell later, the man is bleeding on the ground, clutching his head. The baton drips red.

 

“I don’t like questions, livestock. Learn fast.”

 

The men and women behind the man flank the group of survivors and start shoving them forward towards a door. They don’t bother to step over the man bleeding on the ground; they just step on him as if he were no different than the rest of the dirt and straw flooring. Akaashi finally takes a full glance around – they’re in a warehouse; a tall, metal building with plenty of space inside. Temporary walls stretch halfway up towards the ceiling, blocking his view of the rest of his surroundings. His stomach drops when he sees that they’re being funneled through a door into a hallway made out of – oh god, those are _cattle fences_ . Who _are_ these people? He feels his chest tighten. The gravity of their situation is beginning to sink in, coiling like an icy snake somewhere down near his navel. Something completely _fucked up_ is going on here and he and Bokuto are stuck right in the middle of it.

 

He feels Bokuto balk beside him, the reality of what’s happening to them clearly striking him, too. A hand darts out and fists in his black and white locks, yanking his head sharply back.

 

“Keep walking, cow,” snaps the leader, and then his mouth widens into a nasty grin full of crooked, yellowed teeth. “Hair’s black and white just like one. If I pull hard enough, you gonna moo for me?”

 

Akaashi fills to the brim with rage, especially with the sharp inhale of his best friend when the man twists his dirtied hair even tighter, and the laughter echoes in his ears. His pale, bony fist connects with the man’s face before he really takes the time to think about his actions; he’s too weak to truly hurt him, but forceful enough to make him gasp. Then those burning eyes are on him, Bokuto forgotten once again, and Keiji doesn’t have time to flinch before the man’s heavy fist strikes him across the face. He staggers back against the cold railing, feeling the eyes of all the people in front of them watching.

 

Weakness creeps into his bones like mist settling over a low-lying field. Suddenly he’s exhausted, and he doesn’t resist when Bokuto wraps an arm around his waist to pull him along. The entire right side of his face throbs, and he wants nothing more than to fall boneless to the floor.

 

The makeshift hallway leads them to a door, through which they are shoved once again. Bokuto barely manages to keep them both on their feet, angling towards a spot in the far left corner of the room they have just entered.

 

The leader walks in, his still-bloody baton tucked into his belt.

 

“My name’s Kubo. I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here. I don’t really see the point in telling you, though, because you’ll die either way.” He smiles, as if he just let them in on a wonderful secret. A woman with a rat-like face steps in the room behind him, holding a bucket in each hand. She makes a move towards the wall directly to the left of the door and that’s when Akaashi notices the trough running along the dirty floor. An animal trough.

 

He feels the hope fizzle out of him. These people do not see them as humans.

 

“Here’s your food, and your water. A waste of resources, if you ask me, but it’ll be a few days before the auction, and I don’t want to suffer any unnecessary losses before then. Try not to die. You’re worth more if you’re alive.”

 

The two exit and the door shuts behind them, and the sound of a heavy lock sliding into place grates on all of their nerves. There’s a sudden scramble towards the food trough as everyone in the room rushes to fill their empty stomachs with whatever is available. Bokuto lowers Akaashi to the ground, watching him with the calmest expression Akaashi has ever seen him wear. Bokuto sets his hand against the uninjured half of his face and then draws it away, to the hem of his own shirt. He pulls it off, and Akaashi scrunches his face in mild confusion; although he immediately relaxes it when he feels his swollen cheek protest to the movement.

 

“Bokuto-san, what are you doing?”

 

“I want you to call me Koutarou.” Bokuto smiles at him. Akaashi blinks. He didn’t get hit that hard, did he?

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“I want you to call me Koutarou. You’ve called me Bokuto-san as long as we’ve known each other, Akaashi! Which has been aaaaages, and it’s pretty ridiculous! We’re friends, best friends! And if we are going to die soon I’d really like it if you called me ‘Koutarou’ for a little while before that. I’m going to go get water, so I’ll be right back. Stay put!”

 

He bustles off – or as close to ‘bustle’ as a dehydrated, malnourished Bokuto can get – and Akaashi stares after him in a daze. It’s just like Bokuto to perk up in a situation like this, and he feels his cheeks warm in shame when he realizes just how pathetic he himself has been acting. Charismatic though he may be, Bokuto doesn’t have the foresight to get them out of here. Akaashi, on the other hand, does, strategy carved into his every cell. He needs to pull it together. He’s going to get them out of this, he decides, no matter what. It would be stupid not to at least try.

 

Bokuto returns with his shirt absolutely soaked with water.

 

“I figured you needed to rest a little bit so, I brought this back for you!” He holds out the dripping cloth and Akaashi blinks for a moment, just staring at this baffling boy before him, and the way eleven days has taken so much from him. He looks far too thin with no shirt on. His staring seems to make Bokuto nervous, and he makes a face. “I guess, it might be, sorta gross, huh. I didn’t think about that. I’ll use your shirt if you want, or-“

 

“Koutarou.” Akaashi interrupts him and holds the silence after the word. _Koutarou_ . He takes the shirt from Bokuto’s hand and brings it to his mouth. He was right, it _is_ gross, but the filthy water washes away the bone dry ache in his throat. The thoughtfulness of his companion warms him from the inside, and he takes a momentary break to say a quick, “Thank you, Koutarou.”

 

Bokuto practically glows with excitement at Akaashi’s use of his name, but for once in his life he doesn’t rub it in. He knows that Akaashi knows how happy it makes him, just like he knows that if he gets worked up about it, the other will get uncomfortable. “I’ll get us some food!” he says, voice full of conviction.

 

His mind drifts back to the first days of their captivity, in which Bokuto was the one who bolstered everyone’s moods. Had he always been like that? Akaashi thinks that this is one of the first times _he’s_ been the one in need of that sort of support, and he finds that he’s grateful for it. He’s grateful for his best friend being beside him, even if he’d rather they both be anywhere else in the world.

 

Bokuto returns with a handful of stale bread for him.

 

“You got some for yourself too, right?” Akaashi checks.

 

“Oh! Yeah, well, I grabbed some yeah, although most of it was already gone. It’s okay, I’ll just get some tomorrow!”

 

Akaashi shakes his head and breaks the bread in half. “Eat it. Or else I won’t call you by your first name.”

 

Bokuto pouts, but complies.

 

Halfway through their pathetic excuse for a meal, the fluorescent lights above them shut off, bathing them in darkness.

 

“LIGHTS OUT, LIVESTOCK!” shouts a voice they immediately recognize as Kubo’s. Akaashi sighs around the last bite of his bread, takes another drag of water from Bokuto’s shirt, and frowns.

 

“It’s still pretty wet.”

 

“That’s okay! We’ll just lay it out and it’ll be all nice and dry tomorrow morning.”

 

“You’re going to catch a chill.”

 

“No I won’t! It’s summer, Akaashi, quit worrying so much!” He holds the shirt up, like he’s considering what to do with it, and balls it up.

 

“If you do that, it won’t dry properly.”

 

Bokuto holds it out towards him. “That’s okay. You should put this on your face. It’s ah, um, a little swollen. And you’re supposed to put cold stuff on injuries and stuff, right?!”

 

Akaashi allows him a nod.

 

“So go on! Take it. It’ll be fine, you worrywart.” Bokuto all but shoves the shirt into Akaashi’s hands. He lets out a long-suffering sigh and balls it up. When he presses it to his face, he can feel his muscles relax. It _does_ feel good.

 

“We should go to sleep.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

 

Akaashi lays out on the ground, doing his best to ignore the sharp pokes of stray bits of straw against his back. Bokuto settles down next to him.

 

The silence seems to stretch for ages, and Akaashi has already flipped the t-shirt twice before Bokuto speaks up again, this time in a whisper.

 

“Akaashi, are you awake?”

 

“Yes, Koutarou. I’m awake.”

 

“Oh. Okay!”

 

He can hear Bokuto fidget beside him, and Akaashi doesn’t give himself the chance to debate his actions before he carries them out. He scoots back until he’s pressed up against his friend, feeling the other’s warmth through his t-shirt. Bokuto seems to freeze, and Akaashi knows it’s because he’s uncertain. This is nothing they’ve ever done before. But feeling Bokuto beside him makes everything real, and keeps him grounded.

 

“Akaashi?” Bokuto finally whispers.

 

“Call me Keiji.” Akaashi answers, pressing back further against his best friend.

 

“Oh! Uh… Keiji? Everything okay?”

 

“I’m cold.” It’s a lie, but he certainly _does_ shiver when Bokuto says his name, so at least it’s a believable lie.

 

“I can fix that.” He can hear the smile in the other’s voice as an arm wraps around his side, pulling him back against Bokuto’s chest. “Is this okay?”

 

“It helps. Thank you, Bo- Koutarou.”

 

“You’re welcome. Good night, Keiji!”

 

“Good night.”

 

 

= = =

 

 

Suga stretches his feet out across the couch cushions in their quarters and pulls the green blanket off the back, leaning back until his head is resting on the armrest. He’s alone, for once, it’s been that way since he woke up, and he rubs his cheeks with a sigh.

 

Daichi walks through the door as if he’s trying to make zero noise, but he gives up the second he sees that Suga is awake. Suga, for his part, groans and throws an arm over his face, which makes Daichi laugh.

 

He doesn’t hear the other cross the room, or see it, but he _feels_ the tap tap on his shoulder, and blinks at the brightness of the room. Daichi is looking down at him, hands on his hips, and Suga gives him a look.

 

“Share,” Daichi tells him, and Suga groans once again, but his groan turns into a yelp when a pair of hands slide beneath his shoulders and lift his head up. With a flop, Daichi sits down and drops Suga’s head on his lap.

 

Suga can feel his face heat up again, and covers it with his arm once more. He’s not sure how much longer he can play off things like this – Daichi clearly has no idea the effect he has on him, and there’s only so much he thinks he’ll be able to handle before he does something stupid. Just another thing to weight down on his mind…

 

“What’s bothering you, Suga?”

 

“Nothing’s bothering me.” It’s a lie, they both know it’s a lie, but Suga won’t give up his insecurities easily – not even to Daichi. But the brunette knows that, and it’s comforting to Suga to know that he cares enough to try and help any time he falls into a slump.

 

“Oh, so you’ve been bumming around the room for no reason then?”

 

“Exactly. You know me, I like to bum around.”

 

Daichi _does_ know Suga, and he therefore knows that Suga is a busybody and does _not_ do much bumming around of any sort. “Do you also love staying up all night?”

 

Suga lifts his arm to glare at Daichi. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You barely sleep. Don’t sit there and act like you didn’t think I’d notice, Suga, we’re roommates. Of course I’d notice.”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Are you really asking me that?”

 

Suga pouts up at Daichi. “You’re asking unfair questions.”

 

“You’re deliberately dodging their answers.”

 

Suga can’t argue with that, so he frowns and sets his hand on his own chest. He tries his best to keep his mind from wandering towards the warmth that’s creeping into his skin where he’s laying against Daichi.

 

And _god_ , if Daichi doesn’t start playing with Suga’s hair just when he thinks he’s over their proximity.

 

“So, what do I have to do to get you to tell me what’s bothering you?”

 

Suga swallows. “What _would_ you do?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Suga looks up at Daichi then, to the firm and gentle smile curving his lips, and his stomach squirms. That’s the face Daichi wears when he Means It. And fuck, if Suga doesn’t want to take him up on that, tell him to kiss him, hold him, fuck him, just _be_ with him forever in any capacity. And for half a second, he wonders if Daichi is offering to do anything because he wants to do anything, anything and everything with Suga.

 

But he kills that thought before it can take root. For one, he’s too terrified of finding out that Daichi holds nothing but friendship for him. And for two, he is pretty sure Daichi doesn’t anyways. It’s better to dream, he thinks. So he swallows all of his wants and hopes and squashes them down to the back of his heart until he thinks he can’t breathe, and closes his eyes to the square jaw that’s tilted in his direction.

 

“I wouldn’t know what to pick.”

 

“Do you need ideas?”

 

“No. Play with my hair.”

 

“I’m already doing that, though.” When he gets no alternative, he decides that he can

 

Suga makes a noncommittal hum in response, but it’s not a no, and the fingers in his hair keep moving in intoxicating patterns, so it’s safe to say that Daichi is gaining a little bit of ground on him.

 

“So what is it, bad dreams?”

 

“Maybe,” Suga mumbles, closing his eyes.

 

“About what?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I’m guessing it has to do with the mission you went on with the rookies. You haven’t really been acting yourself since then.”

 

Suga ‘hmm’s again, and Daichi’s fingers move to play with the hair at the crown of his head. “You’re going to mess it up.”

 

“And you’re _not_ going to distract me. So, nightmares?”

 

Koushi shrugs, trying to ignore the sinking in the pit of his stomach. “I guess. I really shouldn’t complain though.”

 

“Tell me about them.”

 

“They’re probably exactly what you think they are. Just. That mission where I lost Kageyama and Hinata.”

 

“You didn’t lose them, Suga.”

 

“I _did_ though, Daichi. They were _dead_ , and it was my responsibility to get them home safe.”

 

“They did get home safe. All things considered, Suga, you did a really good job.”

 

“Daichi… if Tanaka hadn’t been there, if Yamaguchi hadn’t been there, if Tsukishima hadn’t been there… we would all be dead right now. _I_ was the problem, I completely lost it! I put all of them in danger.”

 

“Listen,” Daichi says, but Suga reaches up and places a hand over his mouth.

 

“No, you listen. I close my eyes and I see it. It’s like watching your younger siblings die. I couldn’t. Handle. It. I’m terrified of losing someone. I’m terrified of losing _anyone_.”

 

Daichi reaches up with his free hand and pulls Suga’s away.

 

“Do you think I can’t relate to that?” Suga makes a small noise of surprise. “I’m not lying to you. Every second of my first missions as captain of Alpha scared me shitless. Do you remember how much I relied on you to monitor the situation? Do you remember how cautious I was?”

 

Suga remembers. “I thought you were just a careful kind of guy.”

 

“I _was_ careful. But mostly I was scared. You know I’m a lot more relaxed now, even when it looks like shit’s hitting the fan. But the difference is that we’ve been working together for ages. I genuinely trust every member of our team to watch each other’s backs. And I accept that not every mission is going to go according to plan. I have more responsibility as captain, sure, but I also have more experience. That was, what, your _first_ time leading that particular mix of people? Of _course_ something was going to go a little wrong, Suga. That’s how this kind of thing goes.”

 

“But I knew them. I made an effort to watch their tapes and understand their styles and what happened _shouldn’t have._ Don’t you realize how lucky I am that they were candidates for Familiars?”

 

“We’re all lucky for that. But you know watching films isn’t the same as working in the field together. I was talking to Takeda – don’t give me that look, he asked me to talk, not the other way around – and he said that the intel wasn’t complete anyways. How could any of you anticipate that? How could you have known what was going to happen beforehand? This job of ours… It’s risky. There’s just no other way to put it. People die out there. Every single day people die in this stupid war that never should have happened in the first place. And we’re lucky that this time, the deaths weren’t permanent. So don’t let yourself get caught up in it… not consciously, at least. I know you can’t control the dreams. But you can control whether or not you hang yourself out to dry for this. Did you create the Arcane that Summoned those Ghouls?”

 

Suga shakes his head no.

 

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t make the Ghouls, you didn’t make the Spell, you weren’t the one who killed them. The only actions you can control are your own, Suga. You didn’t do this. So don’t take this out on yourself. Take it out on the people who think it’s okay to do this to others.”

 

“You’re such a motivational speaker,” Suga grumbles. Daichi laughs. “No wonder you’re our captain.”

 

Daichi’s hand starts moving through his hair again where it had previously stilled while he was talking. It feels ridiculously nice against his scalp.

 

“You gonna try and sleep tonight?”

 

Suga makes an affirmative noise, his eyes closing.

 

“If you have bad dreams again, you’re gonna come wake me up, right?”

 

“What, are you going to tuck me back in and read me a bedtime story?”

 

“I will, if that’s what it takes.” Daichi grins. “But no, I was thinking more like, we could always talk about it, or something.”

 

“Oh, imagine that, Sawamura Daichi wanting to _talk_! Simply unheard of.”

 

Daichi laughs, and tugs on Suga’s hair playfully, but it’s _too much_ for Koushi, who can’t stop the tiny, breathy moan that slips from between his lips in response. The brunette freezes, and Suga jolts upright, his face burning red.

 

“Oh my god,” he whispers, glancing over his shoulder with horror at Daichi, his hands over his mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

 

For his part, Daichi is red in the face, too. “No, no,” he splutters, his hands up, “that was my bad, I didn’t realize-”

 

Suga’s eyes widen a fraction further, and Daichi shuts his mouth with a snap.

 

Koushi feels mortified. Not that he _minds_ Daichi pulling his hair, but he pictures that going a little differently, and more… on purpose. And a lot more never-going-to-happen. God, _god_ , Suga stands up and presses his hands to his face. _Play it off_ , Koushi, he tells himself. He slaps his cheeks with both hands and pulls on a playful smile.

 

“I didn’t realize you were into pulling hair, Daichi,” he teases, trying to control his shaking voice.

 

He immediately regrets it when Daichi looks at him with an indecipherable expression, his voice breathy when he replies. “I didn’t realize you were into having your hair pulled.”

 

 _Fuck._ Suga’s playful smile drops and his face flushes once more. All of this is going to Koushi’s head… and to his dick. He has got to get out of here.

 

“I’m… gonna shower,” he stammers. “Are you good with making dinner on your own or do you want help?”

 

“I think I can manage,” Daichi says in a somewhat more normal tone. They stand in a charged silence for a moment, until Daichi speaks again, quieter this time. “Are you good with showering on your own, or do _you_ want help?”

 

Instead of answering, Suga runs to the shared bathroom with a distressed sound, not trusting his self control enough to give a straight (gay?) answer, not having any idea what to think about this new _tension_ between them, and very much in need of finding some relief.

 

Face pressed against the tile wall of the shower, his hand wrapped around his dick, and thoughts of Daichi pulling more of those noises out of him have him losing his mind.

 

Koushi can’t help but wonder: _What if?_

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

“So then Noya rolls in from the side and, you wouldn’t believe it, he tries to put up a shield for Asahi but he only makes it big enough for himself, you know, cause sometimes he forgets he’s short as hell, right? So then the Skrall sprays its ink shit all over the place, and I swear to god, Asahi drops and _screams_. In the middle of the fight! Daichi and I weren’t so lucky, cause neither of us have very strong defensive magic. And Suga doesn’t either, so we got soaked in the stuff, god it smelled so bad I wanted to fucking hurl, dude.” Tanaka throws an arm over Ennoshita Chikara’s shoulder, earning him a disdainful look from the other.

 

“I’m suddenly very glad I’m not on your team.” Ennoshita tells him. Tanaka leaps back as if he’s been burned.

 

“Hey, we still killed the thing, dammit! Does it matter how we did it?”

 

Ennoshita smirks. “That’s funny, coming from a braggart like you.”

 

Tanaka makes an affronted noise and hooks an arm around Ennoshita’s neck, rubbing his hand in the other’s hair in spite of Ennoshita’s protests. An elbow to the stomach has Tanaka reeling back, eyes watering.

 

Ennoshita runs a hand through his hair to fix the mess Tanaka’s made of it, and frowns. “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that, you simpleton?” Tanaka grimaces at him with a hand on his side. “Oh, c’mere, you wimp.”

 

Tanaka reaches out and takes Ennoshita’s proffered hand, avoiding eye contact and turning an interesting shade of pink. The black-haired boy snickers in spite of his own blush.

 

“Oy, what’re you laughing at, dammit?” Tanaka growls.

 

“You’re such a four-year-old, Ryuu.”

 

“Am not!”

 

“You won’t even look at me, you dork.”

 

Tanaka sputters indignantly, but Ennoshita’s right, and he finally glares at him out of the corner of his eyes. “S’cause you’re cute,” he mumbles.

 

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t hear that, come again?”

 

“I said you’re cute, god dammit!” Tanaka snaps, always and forever rising to Ennoshita’s bait. Ennoshita covers his mouth with his free hand and bursts into laughter.

 

“Look who’s talking.”

 

Tanaka falls silent, his face burning red, and they walk down the hall like that, their linked hands swinging between them. Halfway down the hall, they pass a closed door and hear raised voices from behind it.

 

They share a look, and Tanaka pulls Ennoshita to a stop.

 

“Tanaka,” Ennoshita admonishes. “We shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

 

Tanaka just presses a finger to his own lips and lingers, which earns him a near-silent sigh from the other. Ennoshita Chikara is, if anything, forever the victim of Tanaka’s antics (even though, realistically speaking, he doesn’t mind that much. Love does that to people).

 

“I don’t understand what the fuck they think they’re doing. How does this make us any better than them?!” They immediately recognize this voice as Ukai’s.

 

“I don’t know, Keishin.” The second voice is soft in tone and calm, though louder than it normally is. It belongs to Takeda. “What can we do right now besides play it by ear?”

 

“I don’t want to ask anyone to go out there and fight if it’s all for some shitty fucking lie the higher-ups are telling us. The fuck are they thinking?! No matter what way you slice it, that’s Arcane!”

 

Ennoshita and Tanaka share a look and raised eyebrows. Ennoshita motions for them to leave again, but Tanaka mouths ‘ _one more second,_ ’ and once again gets his way.

 

“We don’t know that. We haven’t confirmed it. We just need to keep doing what we’re told for now and keep our eyes and ears open in the mean time. You know that’s the better option.”

 

“I know it’s the better option, but god damn it, I hate not knowing if it’s the _right_ option. I hate not being able to do anything. What if all of this is just some shitty lie? How’re we gonna deal with that? How are _they_ gonna deal with that?”

 

This time Ennoshita is the one pulling Tanaka forward, his face tense. Once they’re far away, he drags Tanaka down an empty hallway and stops, leaning his forehead to press it against Tanaka’s warm chest.

 

“What was _that_ about?” he whispers, his voice heavy with concern. They capture criminals for a living and risk everything in the process. To have it thrown into doubt all of the sudden is a frightening prospect to him. Ennoshita wishes he had made Tanaka keep walking, he wishes he had never heard any of it. They’ve lost people they _loved_ for this cause.

 

Tanaka wraps his arms around the other, doing his best to comfort him, even though he, too, is worried. “I don’t know, Chikara. I have no fuckin’ idea.”

 

 

= = =

 

 

Soft light filters through Kenma’s eyes the night he finally wakes up. He registers the white walls bathed in shadows and gentle beeping of medical equipment and knows that he’s in the infirmary. It must be nighttime, because the overhead lights are off and only the dim safety lights along the walls are glowing.

 

He can feel Kuroo’s presence at his side – feel is an understatement, it’s like Kuroo is silently screaming at him.

 

Kenma finds himself drawn into thoughts, thoughts that aren’t his. A dream. No, a nightmare, full of blood and hellfire. His face melts into a pained frown, unable to tune out the horrors of the dream and tasked with making room to think around it.

 

He finds himself doubting that these are Kuroo’s dreams. He’s never, ever been able to sense his best friend before. But there’s no one else around, Kenma can’t sense or see anybody else, and that means that the nightmares must be his best friend’s.

 

He lets a shaky sigh slip through parted lips and stretches his arm out, resting it in the dark mop of hair belonging to the boy sleeping with his head cradled in his arms on Kenma’s bed. Better to wake him than have him suffer through the images that seem to burn themselves in the back of Kenma’s mind like an afterimage.

 

Kuroo stirs, lifting his head and blinking sleep from his eyes. The dream fades into nothingness, and then it’s gone, as if it had never been there at all. “Kenma?” he asks through a yawn, and then, “Kenma! You’re awake!”

 

Something is wrong, Kenma realizes. The dream hasn’t been replaced by any sort of thought. No words, or emotions (he’s sure Kuroo is feeling plenty of them right now), or even a sense of Kuroo’s presence. He reaches out and presses a hand against Kuroo’s cheek, eyes on the grin of the taller boy. “I can’t hear you?” he mumbles.

 

“Of course you can’t. You never could. Remember?”

 

“I remember,” Kenma says. “But you were having a nightmare.”

 

Kuroo gives him a curious look. “No, I wasn’t. I don’t have dreams, Kenma. You know that.” Things aren’t adding up in Kenma’s mind. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it before the bed-headed puppy at his bedside is talking again. “Hey, how do you feel, though? You scared the shit out of me. You scared the shit out of all of us, actually. What happened?”

 

It’s a lot more questions than Kenma is ready to handle just yet, and not the ones he most wants the answers to at the moment. He pulls his hand back to his lap and looks at the ceiling. Kuroo reaches out and pulls it back into his own grasp.

 

“I feel fine,” he says, honestly. “Just tired.”

 

“And what happened on that rooftop? We heard you scream, and then by the time we got to you whoever had attacked you was gone.” Kuroo’s rough fingers thread between his, warm and comforting.

 

He tries to think back to those final minutes of their last mission. He remembers setting the trap, remembers bits and pieces of the discussion, but after that it’s like trying to call sand back up to the top half of the hourglass.

 

“I can’t remember.” Kenma ducks his chin against his chest, feeling troubled. “It’s… there’s nothing there.”

 

Kuroo frowns, and Kenma can practically see the gears whirring in his mind. There are probably a thousand more questions coming his way, and he’s dreading all of them. “Kuro, can we just. Not do this… Not right now?”

 

Kuroo reaches and tucks some of Kenma’s hair behind his ear, letting his frown relax into a neutral look, one full of caring that Kenma basks in. “Yeah, no problem.” His lips widen to a smirk. “Wanna hear what trouble Lev got himself into while you were out?”

 

 

= = =

 

 

Things around the base have calmed down significantly. With no incidents for the past two weeks and Kenma back up and about, Ukai decides that the teams are cleared to revert to their original members. There’s no illusion about their job being a dangerous one. Soldiers die all the time, and the enemies don’t give days off.

 

Though he misses the calm and collected guidance of Suga, Yamaguchi realizes that he’s okay with it. He likes his team the way they are, idiosyncrasies and all. Sure, Kageyama and Hinata still bicker, but they make a good team regardless, especially since they’ve been working on their new powers. Tsukishima, he knows, continues to do his job, at the very least. Yamaguchi knows that he could do better, but he isn’t going to push the issue. He knows that Tsukki is still battling with the problems that losing Akiteru left him with.

 

They’re out on a mission again, just a simple clearing of a house on the edge of a nearby town that’s been leaking dark energy like a sieve. Yamaguchi’s a block away – he lacks any true offensive capabilities, so he’s once again monitoring the situation from afar, watching Hinata and Kageyama’s heat signatures as they clear the building. Tsukishima sits on a nearby roof, on standby for the time being.

 

There are no other traces of people in the building, so Yamaguchi guesses that there’s residual Arcane from a past event, maybe a Summoning or something like that. Nevertheless, it’s unwise to leave things like this to their own devices – Arcane has a habit of attracting trouble to itself, and the military has no interest in anything sinister moving into the building, especially when it’s so close to a habited zone.

 

Yamaguchi chuckles when he catches sight of Tsukishima lying out on the roof he’s stationed on.

 

His tablet beeps, and he quickly pulls up the monitoring program the noise came from. There’s some sort of disturbance in the alley nearest to where he’s seated leaning against a vacant house.

 

“Hinata, Kageyama, I’m getting some pinging here. Stay on guard, okay?”

 

“Why don’t you say that to Tsukishima, too?” whines Hinata.

 

“Because I’m actually-“ Tsukki’s voice fizzles out into static over the comms. Yamaguchi glances at the satellite image – he hasn’t moved from the rooftop. The hairs on the back of Yamaguchi’s neck stand up for reasons he can’t put his finger on.

 

“Tsukki? You cut out, what did you say?” he says, pressing a finger over his earpiece to ensure that it’s picking up his voice. He’s answered with more of the _kshhhhh_ -ing sound of static. The beeps start coming fast and steady from Yamaguchi’s monitor. There’s really only one conclusion to make: something or someone is coming for them.

 

 _Why can’t these missions ever go right?!_ he thinks as he tucks the tablet under one arm and sprints to the end of the alleyway. He skids to a halt across the concrete, trying to think fast. With the earpiece out of order, he won’t be able to contact the others for backup or warning. To make matters worse, he can’t fight on his own – he doesn’t have the same skillset as the combatant members of his team. He’s struck with a feeling of helplessness. All he knows is the desire to protect mixing with fear in his chest, creating a volatile cocktail that paralyzes him.

 

Hachiko materializes next to him.

 

_Now is not the time to panic. What are you going to do?_

 

“I don’t know,” Yamaguchi whispers. The air around him grows cold, the temperature dropping with each step he takes.

 

_You should let the others handle this._

 

“And what if it’s something they can’t handle? You think I should just lead some unknown entity towards my team and hope that it doesn’t get all four of us killed?”

 

_Then run._

 

“And abandon them? You know that’s not an option. I’m not running.” He hates his weakness in that moment. He hates himself.

 

Yamaguchi sprints forward, his tablet held out in front of him, fingers dancing across the screen to change settings and filters until he _sees_ it, finally, the cloaking spells hugging the frames of three people near him. He stops. Takes a deep exhale, and pulls something out of the utility pouch at his hip. It’s a small piece of paper with a symbol drawn on it.

 

He can’t do much, but he can certainly _try,_ he reasons, pressing the Instant Spell into the ground at his feet. It sparks to life under his touch, a glyph spiraling across the pavement before vanishing. The paper is gone; instead the mark that was on the parchment is etched into Yamaguchi’s palm like a temporary tattoo where he touched it. Nodding once to himself, he moves forward to confront the three enemies. If he can establish information about the trio, he can figure out whether he needs to lead them _away_ from his team, or _towards_ them.

 

His chosen position as an operator requires a lot of technical knowledge – which is something that Yamaguchi can handle, whereas his practical skills with magic in general aren’t anything to brag about. He knows that the three enemies are strong just by seeing them, by breathing in the frosted scent on the air that tells him at least one of them has an elemental affinity. It’s not good news. Not at all. He skids to a halt fifteen feet in front of where the tablet tells him the enemies are standing. The cloaking spells that were rendering them invisible waver, and then melt off of their forms like wax, revealing three men.

 

“Hello,” one of them says to him. He has dark, longer hair slicked back with gel, and thin, fishlike eyes set into sunken sockets. He’s flanked by a taller blonde with long hair and a shorter blonde with a buzz cut. They carry a distinct air of danger, though they can’t be much older than Yamaguchi. He feels three pairs of eyes move down and back up his uniform. “Military-type, huh?”

 

Yamaguchi takes one step back. The murderous intent in their gazes is enough to make his heart pound impossibly faster.

 

 _Stay still_ , Hachiko says quietly. His fur is raised on his back, stance defensive. Yamaguchi stays put, and remains silent.

 

“Don’t be shy, now,” says the dark-haired man in the middle. Yamaguchi guesses that he’s the leader. The taller blonde chuckles, his breath coming out in an icy puff of air. Yamaguchi immediately identifies him as the source of the unseasonable chill. “We just want to talk.” It’s clear by his tone that they do _not_ just want to talk.

 

Yamaguchi’s dark eyes dart between the three. They’re a threat. He’s not sure he trusts his team to handle them on their own. Kageyama and Hinata are talent still blooming, sometimes wavering. Tsukki can be counted upon to help, but between the three of them he still isn’t sure it would be enough. And what if… The image of two split bodies on the floor and blood running pink down a drain crowd his thoughts. He couldn’t handle it if anyone died because of him, especially if it was because he wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to protect them. He guesses he’s going to need to use that spell, after all.

 

_Wait longer. They need to want you for this to work._

 

“Would you mind coming with us for a bit?” asks the tall blonde. “It’s really not safe for you to be out here all on your own, you know.”

 

He hears static over his earpiece. One of his team is talking, but he can’t make out a single syllable.

 

The dark-haired one barks a laugh. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Don’t worry. We know how to make them talk.”

 

The man takes a step forward, and his two allies step forward with him.

 

His time is up.

 

Yamaguchi turns on his heel and makes a break for it, retracing his steps. He can hear his pursuers following behind them as Hachiko runs silently through the air alongside him. His hand burns more and more as he nears the spell he placed. There’s a shout from behind and a shard of ice whizzes past his head, making him jerk sideways and lose his balance. He trips and falls, hitting the concrete hard.

 

Hachiko barks at him, urging him to his feet again. _Go!_

 

Yamaguchi turns down the alleyway where he marked the ground, slowing to a stop at the end and turning. His hand feels like it’s on fire now, and just as the three men chasing him step over the spot where he knows his trap spell has been placed, he squeezes his fist shut to activate it.

 

Nothing happens. The men are still coming towards him at an alarming pace.

 

Hachiko barks again. _Tadashi, go! Run!_

 

Yamaguchi gives his palm the briefest glance as he moves forward, only feet ahead of his pursuers now. Scratches run through the spell markings drawn there, and he realizes with a grimace that he broke the spell when he fell. The cuts sting – that was the source of the burning, he realizes, not magic – he can feel the panic well in his throat. _You have to run,_ he thinks. _C’mon, Tadashi_. He turns again, trying to throw them off or put more space between them, but lets out a noise of despair when he realizes that he’s turned down a short, dead-end alley.

 

There’s no ladder in sight. Yamaguchi turns, intending to duck back out of the alley before it’s too late, but he finds his path blocked. The three men appear almost as prowling silhouettes at the open end between the buildings. He backs towards the alley wall opposite the entrance like a trapped animal.

 

“Wrong turn, huh? That’s too bad.”

 

He shakes where he stands as they approach, thinking about how stupid he is, how weak and how pathetic this whole situation is. Suga wouldn’t have made these mistakes. He grips the thin tablet firmly in one hand and smashes it into the concrete at his feet, where it snaps and shatters, broken beyond repair. It’s protocol for operators to destroy their tablets when they fear capture – military secrets are supposed to stay in military hands. It was drilled into his head from day one.

 

“Aw, I wanted to play on that, you know,” says the tall blonde with a pout. The shorter blonde punches his arm. “Ow! Hey!”

 

“Was that supposed to sound scary?” he asks, mocking his taller companion, who immediately opens his mouth to defend himself.

 

“Will you two quiet down back there? I’m trying to have a talk with our friend here.” He gestures towards Tadashi with a hand, striding forward to him as he speaks. Yamaguchi freezes in place, fear paralyzing him. He has run out of options. He’s fucked, he’s fucked, it’s over. Yet he thinks to himself, distantly, that at least he got caught alone. At least he protected his friends with this stupid, foolish move. The pull in his chest that usually leads him to Tsukishima aches. Hachiko gives him a glance, a cold, piercing look, and then vanishes.

 

Yamaguchi knows there’s no hope for him then, because there certainly can’t be hope in a situation that would make his Familiar abandon him. His body betrays him and he shudders out a sob. The man before him extends a hand, which settles on the side of his face, along the curve of his jaw.

 

“Shhhh, shh, don’t cry.” The man’s hand is as cold as ice, and so are his eyes. He moves as if to cup Yamaguchi’s face, making every cell in his body scream at him to run for it, but his muscles won’t listen to his brain except to tremble. He’s terrified. The man’s fingers fist in his hair and pull, jerking his head back and bumping it against the wall. He cries out, his neck bending sharply against his will.

 

“We just want to know what you know, ah, Yamaguchi,” says the tall blonde, tapping a long finger against the nameplate on his chest.

 

“Oh! Yamaguchi, what a nice name. What’s your first name?”

 

Yamaguchi clenches his teeth together, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He gasps as the man hits him in the gut with a knee, winding him.

 

“I ask, you answer. That’s how we’re going to do this, Yamaguchi. The alternative is a lot more painful.”

 

Yamaguchi pants where he crouches awkwardly, his hands pressed to his middle. The man’s hand still grips his hair.

 

“What’s your first name?”

 

“T-Tadashi,” he stutters out, flinching when the man’s free hand nears his face. But it doesn’t strike him, instead it settles on the side of his neck, hot and sweaty. The touch sends a shudder down his spine.

 

“Good! That wasn’t so hard. Next question. Where is the rest of your team?”

 

The air inside his lungs goes cold as the fear fills him from the inside out. He can’t possibly answer that question. “I’m alone. No team.”

 

“Ah, I should have told you before. No lying, either. Oyasu-chan? If you will?”

 

The tall blonde stretches a hand towards Yamaguchi and several tiny bolts of ice shoot forward, sinking into the flesh at his shoulder. He shrieks in pain, reaching towards the wound with the other arm, only for his hand to be swatted away.

 

“So. How many of them are there? Where are they?”

 

Yamaguchi’s lip trembles. “It’s just m. me.”

 

The hand moves to cradle his face again, and then he feels a tug at his ear. _The earpiece_ , he thinks with horror. “You wouldn’t need this if it was just you, would you? Oyasu-chan, if you would.”

 

Yamaguchi lets out a muffled cry against the hand that’s now clamped over his mouth as the ice in his shoulder splinters outwards from its point of contact, spreading deeper.

 

“So, where are they?”

 

Yamaguchi shakes his head, now sobbing in earnest. The pain is only just bearable, but the fear is not. He can’t make his mouth form the words of an answer, he can’t stop shaking long enough to make his tongue work like it’s supposed to. A hand cuffs him around the head. “Stop crying. It’s pathetic, and it won’t save you.”

 

He gasps and falls to the side; his brain bounces around inside his skull when the blow connects. Pathetic. He already knows he’s pathetic.

 

“Let’s try a different question.” The man jerks his torso upright and leans in close, smiling in a way that’s much too pleasant for the pain he’s causing. Yamaguchi feels fingers close around his throat and his eyes widen as they squeeze the breath out of him. His own hands scrabble at the one holding his neck, he can’t _breathe_ , but he barely manages to leave a scratch before his hands are pushed aside by the tall blonde and trapped against the wall behind him with ice.

 

“When I let go, you’re going to answer, and you’re going to answer truthfully, or else I’m going to go back to squeezing your scrawny neck ‘til it snaps. You don’t want to die, do you, Tadashi? No? I don’t think so. So, where is the military taking the people it captures?”

 

He feels all the blood in his face burn, the vision at the corner of his eyes begins to darken, and his pulse whirs in his ears.

 

Then the pressure is gone, and he slumps forward, gulping air into his lungs and shaking from head to toe.

 

“I don’t know,” he manages, his voice raspy. The hand moves forward again and he pushes away until his back presses against the wall. “I really don’t! They take them back to b. base and then somewhere else but I don’t know wh-where. It’s not my job to know where.” He looks up with pleading brown eyes into the leader’s face, begging him to understand that he can’t answer the question.

 

“Very good, Tadashi. Ready for another?”

 

A fist flies into his ribcage, driving the air from his lungs with its bruising force. Yamaguchi can’t even draw breath to respond before the hand is around his throat again, and he’d be screaming if it were possible. His mouth hangs open, he’s certain that spit is leaking from the corners of his lips, and his legs kick out. Anything to get the air back into his lungs, to breathe. But the man kneels painfully on his shins and he simply writhes in place, his vision darkening even faster than before.

 

“You know, it’s rather troubling, don’t you think? After all, you’re doing the dirty work for them. But you don’t even know what happens to the people involved? Do you know what happens to them, Tadashi?”

 

The dark-haired man pulls his hand away again, settling it on Yamaguchi’s heaving chest as he struggles to clear his sight once again with each breath he sucks in.

 

“Infor-information,” he chokes out with a sob. “That’s all I know, they interrogate-“ The hand on his chest slides lower, slowly. His heartbeat doubles. “Stop, stop, _please,_ please I’m answering you, _please_.”

 

“I don’t like your answers very much, Tadashi. Tell me where your base is.”

 

“Karasuno.” The word leaves his lips, and guilt creeps in to fill the space it left. _Military secrets are supposed to stay in military hands._ He’s been trusted with secret information and he’s giving it away like candy at a parade. He’d say anything to make it all stop, to make those hands leave him, to make the pain end. “Karasuno, it’s ten miles west, _please don’t-_!“

 

He’s choked once again, as the man pulls up his uniform and the white t-shirt underneath, exposing the freckled skin of his stomach. Yamaguchi struggles beneath him, trying and trying to get away get away _get away_ , but the ice at his wrists and the weight on his legs and the lack of air in his lungs makes it an exercise in futility. He can’t even scream. The hand rests there for a moment, near his belly button, before it slides to rest on his hip. A fingertip traces the skin there and Yamaguchi fights even harder than ever before – what is he doing what is he _doing_ – when suddenly a blinding pain begins carving itself into his side, following the path the man’s finger takes. It feels like an eternity of pain has passed when he’s allowed to breathe again, only to let out scream after terrible broken scream. Words flow from the man’s mouth, a chant, though Yamaguchi can’t hear it over his own voice. He can’t focus on anything but the pain at his side.

 

Finally, it stops and Yamaguchi slumps to the ground, the ice around his wrists gone. He’s dimly aware that they’re burning from the cold, and that he’s bleeding.

 

“Let’s see if you’re really as alone as you claimed to be.”

 

 

= = =

 

 

The screams he hears shred through his very being when they reach his ears. Through the scope of his rifle, he finds Yamaguchi.

 

“Fuck,” Tsukishima whispers through gritted teeth. “ _Fuck_.”

 

And just like that, Kei throws his rifle over his shoulder and takes off.

 

 

= = =

 

 

Ten minutes haven’t even passed before things change. Yamaguchi looks up as the three men standing before him turn to face a sound. They remind him dully of vultures hovering over a kill. And at the end of the alleyway he sees him walking forward – Tsukishima.

 

“Tsukki,” he mumbles, fresh tears leaking out of his eyes. “Tsukki, no. You have to go.” Doesn’t he realize that the last thing Yamaguchi wants is for anyone to get hurt because of him?

 

The tall blonde glares over at the group, his eyes lacking all of their usual warmth. Those flat gold eyes survey the men, and he clicks his tongue. Yamaguchi feels the wild urge to laugh. Tsukki is Tsukki no matter what.

 

“Well will you look at that, Tadashi? Looks like you have some friends after all! Why don’t we give him the same warm welcome that we gave you? Maybe he’ll be a little more cooperative.”

 

“Tsukki, please, go,” he whimpers. He feels Tsukishima’s cold gaze land on him and recoils.

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

 

“Well, come on then, don’t be shy, Tsukki~!”

 

Tsukishima takes a step forward and raises his rifle to his eyes. The three men barely have time to react before a bullet passes straight through the tall blonde’s head. It’s no warning shot – he’s dead before his body hits the ground, and the shorter blonde cries out in shock from where he stands, covered in his friend’s blood. The leader lets out a shout of rage (and sorrow, Yamaguchi decides with wonder), and slams a fist against the brick wall beside him.

 

The alley walls explode around Tsukki and Yamaguchi whimpers, feeling the strength ebb out of his body. It’s like someone pulled the plug on a warm bath – the strength and life in his limbs is sucked away, leaving cold weakness behind. He realizes with a thin gasp that the man’s mark on his hip was a spell. It was Arcane. And Tsukki…

 

He shouldn’t have worried.

 

As the dust clears, Tsukishima still stands, a cracked green shield falling apart from where he projected it around him, debris tumbling to the ground on either side of his dusty shoes. The leader scrambles back, hauling Yamaguchi up by the hair and forcing him to stand between himself and Tsukishima. The short blonde is nowhere to be found – Yamaguchi wonders if he was caught in the blast.

 

“Stand down,” the man orders, hooking an arm around Yamaguchi. Something sharp presses into the bruised skin of his neck and he swallows, trying to contain his flinch when the blade cuts him with the movement.

 

“Or what?” Tsukishima asks, his voice monotonous. Deadly. Has Yamaguchi ever seen him like this? He doesn’t think so. He glares at the greasy-haired man through his scope.

 

“I’ll slit his fucking throat! Don’t think I won’t!” The blade presses further against him, and Yamaguchi’s eyes flicker up to meet his best friend’s.

 

“Yamaguchi. Are you alright?”

 

How does he tell Tsukki that he’s never been better? That he’s never felt warmer inside than when he saw his best friend at the other end of the alley, how he isn’t alone? How he’s never been alone, not since they met years ago?

 

“I’m fine, Tsukki.”

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” This Shut Up expresses relief. Yamaguchi smiles in spite of himself.

 

“You shut up! Put your gun down and your hands up. I swear to god I’ll do it. I don’t give two shits whether or not he lives.”

 

Tsukishima turns his attention to the man behind Yamaguchi. “I don’t think I will.”

 

His movements are fluid, flawless as he lifts the gun just slightly, aiming, and a crack fills the air as the man holding Yamaguchi goes slack behind him.

 

He feels a sharp new pain at his throat as the man slumps to the ground, presses a hand up against his neck, and blinks when it comes away covered in dark red. Yamaguchi looks up at Tsukishima, finding understanding and fear in the other’s eyes from where he stands, so close and yet still so far away.

 

“Kei?” he says in a childishly innocent voice, and he feels something inside of him snap as his world fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well..... supreme cliffhanger meme reporting for duty... 
> 
> 1\. if, for some outrageous reason, you make something for this fic, please let me know! i'm tracking #ficarus tag on tumblr, and you can always let me know in comments here, or in an ask at [my main blog](http://koushls.tumblr.com) or [my writing sideblog](http://sugawarakoushl.tumblr.com).
> 
> 2\. future chapters may be shorter. because it feels like a lot to make every chapter 10k, and also because it takes longer to get done. is anyone opposed to that?
> 
> 3\. i got a little soul eater in this chapter huh. hope that's not too out there for any of you all..
> 
> 4\. thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> 5\. unfortunately, this fic will update slowly for the time being. i'm participating in hqbb, which means i'm working really hard on a big fic that i can't post any of yet. downside is that, since that fic has a "due date," it's sorta my priority for now, rather than icarus. i'll do my best though, and any little encouragement DOES help spark my urge to write for this story. thanks for your support, it honestly.. means so much to me i can't put it into words.


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